


The Song of Sunset

by eldritcher



Series: The Song of Sunset, The Second Age [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:25:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 132,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond loves.</p><p>Eregion falls, Gil-Galad marries, Imladris is built, the Last Alliance goes to war, and Elrond loves.</p><p>(a trite story of love and love and love)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Warnings  
1\. This may contain a lot of mistakes on the punctuation side of things.  
2\. The tritest love story ever. 

Warnings: homosexual content, heterosexual content, graphic sex, infidelity, unholy matrimony, rape, violence, wars, tragedy, character deaths, AU.

Canon: The Silmarillion. 

Original characters introduced:  
Carnilote: Maglor's wife. Bears him a daughter and a son(Erestor).  
Menelwen: Maglor's daughter.  
Aldor: The chieftain of a human settlement near Eregion.  
Vanima: Daughter of Ingwion; granddaughter of Ingwe.  
Anoriel: Daughter of Amdir, sister to Amroth of Lorien.

* * *

Chapter One

The Consequences of A Sunset

 

Elrond Peredhil anxiously paced the small antechamber gnawing at his nails all the while.  
“This will not help you, Elrond,” Glorfindel remarked calmly, sparing him a glance, before turning again to watch the activities in the gardens through the window, “Come and join me.”

“What if he’s too angry?” Elrond wrung his hands unhappily, “After all I should have spoken to him before talking to Gildor.” 

“Yes, he will be furious and yes again, you should have spoken to him before talking to Lord Gildor. After all you should have remembered that you don’t have Thranduil’s charm!”

“He will kill me, Glorfindel!” Elrond flopped down on a high backed chair near the fireplace in despair.

“No, he won’t; he’ll have to search for a new herald and train him from scratch. More likely he might send you to Círdan for a couple of years as punishment,” Glorfindel opined.

Elrond groaned on hearing the name of his least favourite elf in Arda, “You are not helping matters, are you?” he grumbled.

“As I’m risking an almost certain return to the Halls of Mandos by agreeing to give you moral support in your confrontation with him, Elrond Peredhil, you must choose your words more carefully. Anyway stop worrying! I’ve talked to Erestor about it. He’ll bail us out,” Glorfindel informed.

Elrond bristled angrily, “Lord Erestor! The Chief Counsellor is too high-principled, all ice and no warmth, you shouldn’t have worried him with my follies. What will he think of me?”

“You misjudge him because he was your ‘Ada’ Maglor’s real son! He gives a very fair hearing,” Glorfindel said firmly, “For someone younger than you, he’s quite intelligent.”

“And attractive,” Elrond murmured, “Gil can’t keep his eyes off him at councils. He can give Thranduil a run for his money in the looks department if only he smiled more.”

“Ah! I have noticed that Gil’s not the only one impressed by his looks, eh?” Glorfindel smirked at Elrond, “You can’t keep your eyes off him either!”

“Glorfindel!” Elrond spluttered indignantly, “The very idea-”

He bit off his remark as an aide approached them saying, “The King will see you now, my Lords.”

 

Elrond’s shoulders slumped visibly as he entreated the Lady Elbereth for his safety. Glorfindel stood aside to let him enter first, humming a popular elvish bar song. That did nothing to allay Elrond’s fears at all. Elrond entered the office of the High King of the Noldor and found himself facing a very angry Gil-Galad. Gulping, Elrond bowed humbly.

“Sit, Elrond,” Gil-Galad waved him to a chair impatiently, “And you, Glorfindel, spare my troubled mind your wit.”

Elrond fought the internal urge to jump out of the window away from his fuming cousin and King. 

“What is this I hear from Gildor about your latest far-fetched scheme, Elrond?” Gil-Galad barked, “Why have you been asking the council to see the wisdom in building a new dock? And why have I been the last to hear about this brilliant idea?”

Elrond sighed mournfully before saying, “My Lord, you had asked me not to approach you with any idea that would involve Círdan. The plan for a new dock would certainly be a blow to the mariner. So I decided to get your council’s support before I presented it to you.”

Gil-Galad’s countenance had been growing steadily more purple as he said furiously, “The next time you get such a brainy idea go throw yourself in the Sea! I’m tired of appeasing an angry Círdan and his counsellors each time you come up with a new idea. I thought your duties as my Herald would decrease your ‘thinking’ time. Apparently I was wrong.”

Elrond said sincerely, “I’m sorry, cousin. I thought a dock would add to the beauty of Lindon and we can grow a new fleet of ships. The fishermen would find it easier. But I shall drop my idea if it will displease Círdan again.”

“Sometimes I wish I had never taken you and Erestor off Maglor’s hands!” Gil-Galad muttered darkly, “Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t leave you alone to face the fracas that will result when Círdan learns of this.”

“If you send this one to Lord Círdan, the poor mariner might just set sail for Valinor and leave us all stranded!,” Glorfindel offered helpfully.

For a moment Gil-Galad looked as if he was about to send Glorfindel back to Mandos, but his thick lips curved into a grudging smile as he said, “Hopeless! Cousin, tell me where I can find a balrog?”

 

The atmosphere in the room lightened ostensibly after that and Elrond felt relieved. The King had a far-away look in his eyes as he studied a report before him done in an impeccably beautiful hand. Glorfindel cleared his throat smirking. 

Gil-Galad looked up guiltily saying, “That’s all, I will see you both for dinner. My chambers, same time as usual.”

Elrond smiled. His cousin was certainly much distracted these days. He nodded in silent   
acquiescence and made to leave. Glorfindel, though, was still seated. His naturally jovial disposition had altered as he looked at the King with a stern expression. The Balrog Slayer said to Elrond firmly, “I will join you later.”

Elrond let himself out without saying anything more knowing from prior experience that   
Glorfindel was not to be trifled with when he had that ‘look’ on his handsome face. Though, Elrond mused curiously, what had Gil-Galad done to merit that look? He was so deep in his thoughts that he walked into another elf. Reaching out his hands to steady the other elf, Elrond murmured apologetically, “I was not looking where I was going. Sorry” he looked into the black eyes of his victim; the black eyes of his foster-father Maglor’s son. Elrond bowed saying, “My Lord Erestor.”

“It was my mistake, Lord Herald,” the slim figure encased in deep maroon velvet ceremonial robes said in that low, clear melodious voice. Elrond was once again reminded of Maglor. How many times had his unhappy foster-father sung two scared twins to sleep? Elrond smiled as he noted the extreme beauty of his colleague. The waist length, dark, black hair…the porcelain-pale complexion…the high forehead…the slender, long fingers that caressed the sheaf of papers. It was remarkable that Erestor would take after Maglor so much and Elrond had never noticed it in all the years they had worked together as Herald and Chief counsellor to Gil-galad. Elrond realized that it was their first meeting outside of the councils and the formal dinners. Though in the same age category, they kept different company always.

“Lord Elrond?” Erestor asked in a tone of mild-concern. Elrond tried to stop staring at Erestor. Glorfindel was right. He was attracted to the counsellor.

“Lord Elrond, are you all right?” Erestor’s voice cut in through his thoughts.

Elrond was unable to stop himself drowning in the bottomless, molten, black pools that looked at him worriedly. 

As dark, slim eyebrows shot up enquiringly, Elrond shook himself out of his trance and said warmly, “I’m fine. Was just wondering that we, Gil-Galad’s closest aides are still ‘lord’ing each other!”

“Yes, indeed,” Erestor smiled, “It is indeed true that we hardly no anything of each other after so many councils, dinners and gatherings!”

“How did this happen?” Elrond queried breathlessly. He wanted to keep talking somehow.

Erestor’s smile widened as he explained with false gravity, “Lindon’s a large place, the Council has a full schedule, you are a busy elf and I am usually stuck with paperwork. These would be reasons, would they not, my Lord?” 

“Elrond.” Elrond said firmly.

Erestor inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Elrond continued tentatively, “Would you walk with me? Let us watch the sunset together today.” He was wondering if his boldness had been rash. 

Erestor’s deep eyes remained blank as he said mischievously, “I would never deny the King’s Herald.” Elrond felt dazed. Had Erestor noticed his attraction? If so what, what was his reaction? Or was it just teasing? Elrond searched the counsellor’s features for an answer. But he was foiled by the diplomatic face of inscrutability that characterised Erestor always.

“’Restor!” Glrofindel joined them, Elrond was glad to see that the Vanya’s expression had cleared though shadows lingered in those blue eyes, “Why did you send that brat of Oropher’s to me? I have a good mind to have you strung and quartered. He nearly caused a mass revolt in the barracks!”

“Really Glor!” Erestor punched Glorfindel’s arm affectionately, “A Balrog Slayer scared of an elf barely into his majority?”

Elrond felt himself grow ridiculously jealous as Erestor’s diplomatic mask fell off as he bantered with Glorfindel.

“You are not talking of any elf!” Glorfindel whined, “This is Thranduil, the trouble maker. Valar only knows how Oropher survived raising his son! But why did you set him loose amongst the soldiers?”

Erestor smirked, “Glor, you did say I could have anything I wished for if I saved your precious skin from the King. Surely you wouldn’t deny me the small pleasure of watching the Sindarin Prince wreak havoc on your men?”

“Yes,” Glorfndel reasoned, “but you acted before you had saved my skin, ‘Restor! What made you so sure of Gil’s reaction?”

“Never underestimate the power of a certain, young scribe who happens to be the Chief Counsellor around here,” Erestor said with a mischievous light in his eyes, “The King is impressed by my advice!”

“By your looks, rather” Glorfindel pointed out morosely, “He barely can keep his eyes off you.”

This remark proved to be another bone of contention to an already jealous Elrond. Gil was seriously interested in Erestor?

“You are hopeless, Glor!” Erestor sighed, “Now if you could get going to wherever you go during the day, I could watch the sunset with Lord Elrond.”

“With Elrond?” Glorfindel gasped melodramatically, “’Restor, the whole family of the House of Fingolfin is lecherous. You should be on your guard!”

Elrond cut in. He really was at the end of his restraint. “Lord Glorfindel! You insult my house.”

To his extreme annoyance, Glorfindel winked at Erestor saying, “He’s impatient!”

Erestor smiled, “Indeed. And so am I. For the sun does not wait for us to end this banter. I shall see you tonight at dinner with the King.”

 

They walked through the large garden slowly. The rose bushes were already withered. Winter was setting in fast. Elrond led the way to a secluded clearing. For a few moments they stood side-by-side silently watching the sunset in a wonderful multitude of hues of red. Atleast, Erestor watched the sky while Elrond was busy furtively admiring the slender form beside him. The wind rippled through the black hair whipping it into Elrond’s face. 

As Elrond enjoyed the sensation of that eider-down soft hair caress his cheeks, Erestor murmured, “Thank you.”

“For?” Elrond asked not truly caring. All he wanted was to run his hands through the hair playing against his face. Erestor turned to face him. Elrond felt unhappy as the hair left his face.

“For reminding me of the beauty of Arda,” Erestor said solemnly, “Too long has passed since I have enjoyed the simple joy of a sunset or a sunrise or gazed at the stars.”

“If you wish, Erestor,” Elrond said fanatically, “We shall watch each sunrise and sunset together forever…Err,” he hastily rectified, “whenever I’m in Lindon.”

“That would be wonderful, Elrond,” Erestor inclined his head gracefully, the black eyes shone with joy as Erestor took a deep breath of the fresh sea air. The mask of diplomacy had fallen from his face making him more youthful.

Elrond was surprised to hear himself talking to Erestor about Maglor. He rarely broached that topic with anyone. The pain of losing Maglor was still deep. But with Erestor, his walls crumbled as he spoke of Elros, his choice to become mortal and the grief that resulted at the end. He spoke of his dislike of Círdan, of his suspicions about Galadriel and many other matters that he had rarely talked with anyone. 

Erestor talked of his mother, who had sailed away to Valinor in grief, of his upbringing by Círdan and of Glorfindel whom he had been the first to greet as the Vanya disembarked at the Havens. As melodic Elvish songs greeted the stars, they reluctantly made their way inside the palace. Together, they reached the High King’s private chambers.

 

Gil-Galad was already happily chatting with Glorfindel. His eyebrows raised fractionally as he saw his Herald and Chief Counsellor enter together.

Glorfindel drawled, “It must have been a rather prolonged sunset.”

Elrond shot a death glare at him before taking his seat at his cousin’s left. Erestor took the seat across him. The dinner was excellent and the conversation garrulous as it was always when Glorfindel graced the table. Both the Balrog-slayer and the King shared a vulgar sense of humour that had them all laughing all way through dinner. Erestor had also a finely developed sarcastic, quick-silver wit that revealed to Elrond a much lighter side of the Counsellor. It was indeed funny to see Glorfindel at a loss of words when Erestor made a particularly acerbic remark. 

They retired to the luxurious sitting room after a long dinner. Glorfindel claimed the couch. Elrond and Gil-Galad took two extremely well-worn, but comfortable armchairs by the fire. Erestor moved across the room to lay claim to the window-seat. Conversation continued in a desultory manner as they sipped at their wine lazily. Suddenly, Erestor choked on his wine, spilling it onto his robes before he turned away from the window with haste. 

“What is the matter?” Elrond and Gil-Galad asked simultaneously. Erestor regained his calm composure quickly though he did not turn back again. He sipped his wine saying blandly, “Prince Thranduil is a good warrior.”

Glorfindel smiled knowingly, “Of many conquests.”

“What?” Gil-Galad frowned. Elrond knew that his cousin hated to be the ignorant one. And he sympathized with him. It was difficult to keep up with Erestor and Glorfindel’s subtle wordplay.

Erestor however seemed to be in hurry to make his meaning clear as he said, “He has an admirable grip. After all he is an excellent archer.”

“But I think he must be a better swordsman,” Glorfindel disagreed, “he has big hands.”

Gil-Galad had enough. He cursed them both as he walked to the window and peered out and cursed again, “By the Valar! Oropher’s son has the nerve of Ulmo himself!” The King stood transfixed unmindful of Glorfindel’s and Erestor’s smirks. 

Elrond made to stand, but his cousin snapped as he turned back with a red face, “No, the last thing we want is for Oropher to accuse the Noldor of being voyeurs! Though why his son would think of exploring Lord Gildor at the base of the fountain is beyond me.”

Glorfindel remarked, “The gossip has it that the good Prince has an agenda in Lindon other than his diplomacy matters : to sleep with each and every council member. And I must say, he’s doing a good job.” 

Erestor grinned, “Lord Celeborn refused to go near the stables for a fortnight after deepening his acquaintance with his woodland kin.”

Gil-Galad remarked, “The Prince seems to be a firebrand. I have heard from Círdan that the Silver Tree himself is no passive participant. Círdan often wondered why the good   
Celeborn married my aunt. Agreed she’s beautiful, charming and graceful. But wouldn’t he prefer male company?”

Glorfindel raised his goblet, “He’s no loyal mate, Gil. Their marriage is an agreement from what rumour mills say..”

“Still, Isn’t Thranduil scared of Galadriel?” Elrond wondered, “If it were me, I would be worried to death about that mirror of hers.”

“The Lady loves her husband too less to care a whit about his escapades,” Erestor offered, “My sister has it from Celebrían, their daughter, who stays with Círdan.”

“I have heard that she takes after Galadriel,” Glorfindel remarked, “What a pity. We could do with more in the likeness of Celebrían’s illustrious father!”

“Yes,” Erestor agreed, “We must admit that our Sindarin kin are more attractive than us poor Noldor.”

“Oh!” Gil-Galad downed his wine in one gulp as he got to his feet, “I wouldn’t agree so easily, Erestor. The Noldor treasure is far more beautiful than the brightest gem of the houses of the Sindar!” The King was shaking slightly. As Elrond watched his cousin concernedly walking towards Erestor, Glorfindel got to his feet sobering up quickly.

Ereninon Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor, knelt down on one knee and grabbing Erestor’s slender hands in his, he said softly, “I love you, my Noldor pearl, faithfully, sincerely and I shall love you till the end of Arda and after. I wish to court you, before these noble witnesses, I ask your permission to do so.”

Elrond slumped back against his chair awkwardly. 

Glorfindel hovered over him worriedly, “Elrond?”

He weakly waved his arm saying, “I’m fine. My cousin’s admission took me by surprise, that’s all.”

Glorfindel gave him a look conveying his pity. Erestor cleared his throat, but seemed at a loss for words. He stood up before the knelt King and kissed the signet ring on the large, brawny hand covering his slender ones. Gil-Galad’s entire countenance lit up as he jumped to his feet and threw his arms around Erestor, who stiffened an instant before returning the embrace. His eyes met Elrond’s for a second before the Herald averted his stare. 

Glorfindel said warmly, “Well, Gil, All I can say is that you’ve beat half your Council to it! Most of them were going to ask him at the Winter Solstice!” 

 

Elrond had a tough time getting to sleep that night as he tossed about fitfully on his large, empty bed. He had left after a celebratory toast to the betrothal citing weariness. Atleast that had temporarily saved him from Glorfindel’s knowing looks. Luckily his cousin had been too jubilant to notice his unease.

A persistent, sharp knocking on his door interrupted his dark thoughts. Elrond got up relieved. It must be yet one of those emergency cases that called upon his healer skills. It was just what he wanted now. An escape away from his thoughts. 

As the knocking resumed, Elrond hastily wrapped the blanket around his naked form and opening the door, found himself face to face with Erestor, who was impeccably dressed in sombre, yet rich looking black robes. A pair of penetrating eyes looked Elrond over from head to toe before shooting back up to a furiously flushed face.

The eyes widened in concern as Erestor said, “I’m sorry to intrude upon your rest. I thought we had agreed to watch the dawn together. But I will leave you now. I am sorry,” he repeated as he stepped back apologetically. 

Elrond raised his hands in protest as he said, “No! There is a balcony here. Let us watch Sunrise together, Erestor.”

Erestor’s eyebrows flew up before they settled down. He seemed to fighting a smile as he murmured, “I seem to be watching something as beautiful as the dawn, if not better, Elrond.”

He stooped and picket up the blanket that had slipped from Elrond’s fingers when the latter had raised his hands to call him back. Elrond shivered and it had nothing to do with the early morning chill. Somewhere to the south, he felt an undesirable response to Erestor’s presence. 

Erestor handed back the blanket to Elrond saying, “It is a cold morning. I will wait on the balcony for you.”

After putting on the loosest tunic he could find, Elrond joined the Counsellor on the balcony. After a few moments of tense silence, Erestor remarked quietly, “You left early yesterday.”

 

“I was tired after a long day, My Lord,” Elrond replied mechanically, keeping his gaze fixed on the eastern skies.

“Are we back to ‘lord’ing each other again, Elrond?” Erestor turned to face him, “What has happened to change things so?”

Elrond mumbled, “If it was so, then it would be my concern alone, seeing I had the initial problem with ‘lord’ing. But, I assure you, you have misjudged.”

Erestor took a deep breath before saying, “It is my concern, Elrond, when you are troubled by my acceptance of your cousin’s proposal.”

“You presume things, Lord Counsellor,” Elrond said coldly.

“And I do not hold that position because of luck, Elrond! I observe. In this case too I have seen and also Glor-”

Elrond had enough. He cut in bitterly, “Oh! Lord Glorfindel! I knew you were on excellent terms with each other. But I did not realise that Glorfindel would discuss my personal affairs with you. Apparently, my trust in his discretion and honour has been wrong.” He was shouting now. His fists curled up in balls at his sides.

“I will not let my friend’s name be sullied, Lord Elrond!” Erestor exclaimed backing away till he reached the railing as Elrond advanced on him, “Think ill of me if you will, but leave Glorfindel out of this.”

Elrond’s face contorted as he spat at Erestor, “If you value him so much, then why did you agree to my cousin’s proposal? Because he is King?”

Erestor frowned as he raised his hands in a placatory gesture, “Elrond, I can explain if you will listen!”

Elrond lost whatever self-control he had as he advanced on Erestor pinning him against the wooden railing, “Why did you accept Gil?”

Erestor’s features smoothed down into the façade of the Chief Counsellor and all emotions disappeared from his eyes as he replied coolly, “Probably you think me not worthy of your cousin. However, before you ask me, I can assure you that I did not seduce him. Since you are so upset, I will certainly talk to him and break this off myself. I will never set foot where I am not welcome. You need not worry about me besmirching your kin’s name, Lord Elrond, Good day to you,” he bowed politely before sweeping out of the room. 

“That went rather well, did it not?” A melodic voice asked from the branches of a tree nearest the railing.

Elrond whipped around to see Thranduil’s face peering through the leaves.

“What are you doing here?” Elrond demanded furiously. The last thing he needed was an encounter with the Sindarin Prince, “You have no right to eavesdrop!”

“I was watching the sunrise from this comfortable perch, My Lord,” Thranduil replied, “Indeed I had no need to eaves drop on what was certainly the loudest conversation I have heard in Lindon,” Thranduil smirked as Elrond’s face reddened, “Though to be fair, I must say that Erestor was fairly quiet!”

Elrond sighed. 

“Whatever is the matter, Elrond?” Thranduil asked concernedly. 

“Why should I tell you?” Elrond asked petulantly, though he wanted nothing more than to tell someone how exactly he felt right now. 

Though under normal circumstances, Thranduil was on the top list of people he wished to avoid, he knew deep down that the Sindarin Prince was an honorable elf. The truth was that Thranduil Oropherion had a reputation of unpredictability even among the elves, whom the other races considered ‘fey’. At times, the young Prince could show the wisdom and valour of his Eldar mother’s ancestry…at times he could possess the cunning of the Falathrim…at times he could be on a rampage to prove his charm, which rumour had it, was from his Sindarin heritage…. 

As Elrond warily observed the extremely handsome figure reclining in a feline fashion on a light branch, he decided that Thranduil was sincere in his concern.

“Walk with me,” Thranduil offered, “It is a beautiful morning. Let us enjoy the dew in the gardens.”

“No,” Elrond said sullenly, “I have had enough of walks and gardens for eternity! You come inside.”

Thranduil leapt onto the balcony easily and swaggered into Elrond’s bedroom as though he owned the place. As he lay down comfortably on his stomach on the large bed, Elrond began to doubt his choice. After all Thranduil had an ‘agenda’. What if he strove to make one step nearer its completion?

As if reading his thoughts, Thranduil smiled saying, “Elrond, I never bother with the untouched.”

Elrond controlled his blushing as he asked reluctantly, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“The way you handled that situation. You frightened poor Erestor!” Thranduil smirked.

Elrond grumbled, “Why are you on first name terms with him?”

Thranduil laughed, a low musical sound. Elrond had to admit that Glorfindel was right. The Prince was fair even among the elves. 

“Elrond, as you and your beloved King spend half your time getting away from the charming presence of my counsellors, Erestor is usually forced to attend those Councils. We have developed an excellent working relationship. Common interests bring us together. Though what my Adar would have to say to me if he learnt of my friendship with a grandson of Fëanor remains to be seen!”

“What do I do now?” Elrond asked of the world at large.

Thranduil sobered up saying, “The King has already gone public with his love for Erestor. They are betrothed. If you think you are attracted to him, stay away awhile and get it out of your mind.”

“Is it possible to forget desire, Thranduil?” Elrond asked bitterly.

“Yes, you can. You can never forget you love,” Thranduil said sadly, a shadow flitting over those aristocratic features, “For your sake, I hope it is not love.”

The door burst open as a furious Glorfindel barged in roaring, “ELROND! What in the name of the Valar were you thnking when talked to Erestor like that?” He paused when he saw Thranduil lounging on the bed. Deciding to forego all discretion, he continued coldly, “He’s waiting in Gil’s antechamber to break off the courtship.”

Elrond shot to his feet stricken, “I have to stop him! Gil will murder him!”

“So you realize that Gil will never forgive him for publicly humiliating him,” Glorfindel sneered, “Now that you have ruined a young life, I suppose you can be happy.”

Elrond sank back into a chair unsteadily, tears streaming down his cheeks. Glorfindel was right. Elrond knew that Gil would never forgive Erestor.

“That’s enough ,” Thranduil said quietly, rising from the bed in a long, fluid movement, “I’ll go speak with Erestor now. I’m sure that I can make him see reason. Elrond, you have obtained a reprieve because of my irresistible charm.”

After Thranduil left the room. Elrond poured out the entire story to a now calmer Glorfindel. 

“Elrond!” Glorfindel wrung his hands at the end of the sorry tale, “What is this madness of yours?”

“I desire Erestor, and I don’t consider it madness,” Elrond said quietly.

“IT IS!” Glorfindel spluttered, “Gil’s courting him now! Think of the consequences.”

“There shall be no consequences,” a mask of serenity had descended on Elrond’s face, “This shall never be breathed outside this room. Glorfindel, I shall never hurt my dear cousin, who is indeed all I have left in Arda.”

“And you?” Glorfindel asked incredulously, “You mean to pretend as if your heart does not desire?”

“Yes,” Elrond reiterated, “I will bear this as I have borne the loss of my parents, Ada Maglor and my twin. I will not obstruct their happiness.”

________________________________________

Chapter 2: ‘To Keep A Secret Thus’

 

Days passed by quickly in which Elrond and Erestor avoided each other by tacit silent agreement. The only place where they had to face each other was at councils where they skilfully managed to avoid eye-contact. Elrond stopped dining with his cousin, Erestor and Glorfindel citing work. Though Glorfindel obviously disapproved of this cold-shouldering he kept quiet bound by his vow of silence made to Elrond.

One evening while Elrond was walking aimlessly in the gardens, Gil-Galad accosted him. Cursing his eternal bad luck, Elrond bowed stiffly. Gil-Galad waved away his gesture indulgently before saying, “Cousin, You know how much I love you.”

Elrond frowned. This was his favourite opening line whenever he approached the King with one of his far-fetched schemes.

“I really have no one else to ask this of,” Gil-Galad continued.

Elrond’s frown deepened. This was going to be bad news definitely. What did Gil-Galad want from him?

“I want you to do the honours for my wedding.”

Elrond smiled saying with an enthusiasm he was far from feeling, “It would be my joy, cousin. Glad you chose me over the mariner.”

“Lord Círdan’s too old,” Gil-Galad reasoned, “And he won’t really match up with Glorfindel who is doing the honours for Erestor.”

“So you two have decided on a date?” Elrond tried to keep his voice calm.

“Yes, Erestor wants a spring wedding,” Gil-Galad said happily, “Two weeks from now. It seems Glorfindel and he have sent out all the invites and arranged most of the festivities. The only thing I am required to do is to make an appearance for the wedding!”

As Gil-Galad prattled on, Elrond wondered about the lack of complexity and heart break in Sauron’s life. 

“Talk of the devil and here he is!” Gil-Galad exclaimed as Erestor entered the avenue from a side path a slight frown creasing his handsome features.

Elrond felt a jolt of pain stab his heart as Erestor’s eyes met his for a second before flicking back to Gil-Galad. It was the first time after that unfortunate sunrise that they were in such close proximity to each other. Another jolt of pain surged through him as Gil-Galad pressed a chaste kiss on Erestor’s cheek murmuring, “Only two more weeks.”

Erestor gently prised away the King’s fingers from his hair before looking at Elrond saying, “My Lord Herald.”

“Are you two still ‘lord’ing each other about? In that case you should better stop. Because one of Elrond’s duties as my right hand is to make sure that wedding wardrobe fits you perfectly,” Gil-Galad gave an evil smirk, “It serves you right for making that Balrog Slayer keep me for hours at the tailor’s fitting me in one ridiculous apparel after another!”

 

Two days later Elrond paced nervously in the Master Tailor’s fitting room eyeing the huge stacks of clothes that they were supposed to inspect. 

“Lord Erestor, my Lord,” an aide announced and withdrew quickly as Erestor entered the room laving them alone. Elrond twitched on hearing the very audible thud of the closing door leaving them alone. Erestor joined him in the middle of the room. Elrond noticed that the Chief Counsellor was clasping and unclasping his fingers in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. 

Cursing Gil-Galad for putting them through this ordeal, Elrond took a deep breath and said uncertainly, “Good morning, Shall we get this done?” he gestured to the clothes piled up all around them.

Erestor bowed lightly saying, “As you wish, my Lord.”

They worked swiftly through the large piles of ceremonial robes with which Erestor seemed at perfect ease. Elrond helped him into the robes tying up the various intricate knots and tiny clasps, all the while thankful that he had worn a thick tunic to hide the evidence of his unquenchable desire.

After trying on one extremely magnificent green robe embroidered with gold, Erestor looked into the mirror uncertainly saying, “Tis the first time I’m wearing green. Now I am thankful I have never done so before, this suits the Sindarin better.”

“Everything suits you,” Elrond murmured softly trying to keep his voice steady. Erestor looked stunning in his eyes. The Chief Counsellor’s eyes widened slightly though he did not remark on Elrond’s observation.

After what seemed to be hours, they were finally done. Elrond had by then been on the closing limit of his restraint. Thankfully, he left the room hastily after Erestor. 

 

The days heralding the wedding passed in a flurry. Elrond had never seen his cousin in such high spirits since Elros had made his choice. The King’s spirits seemed to be all pervading in Lindon causing a disgruntled Oropher to remark, “One would think that he was marrying one of my house instead of a Kinslayer’s.”

The Sindar nobles were in a state of mutiny. This was to be expected given their stand on the Kinslayings. But even some of the Noldorin were appalled by the idea of the King to marry a Fëanorion. The councils became so crass and boisterous that even Glorfindel, who rarely lost his temper, challenged them to combat if they breathed a word against Erestor. The idea of fighting a Balrog Slayer made most of the nobles tractable and when Gil-Galad threatened to exile the rest of his unruly council, there was no more opposition from the Noldor. This was a relief since the King needed the support of his Noldor nobles to counter the Sindar and the Sylvans who were not so easily frightened. Elrond dreaded the Council meetings with Oropher’s and Amdir’s counsellors. 

One evening after a particularly taxing day with Amdir’s counsellors, Elrond escaped to the gardens to recover his temper. Elrond could only hope that his meeting with King Oropher would go easier though it was a highly unlikely wish. It did not help him that Thranduil had nearly achieved his goal of bedding all the nobles of Lindon. Oropher seemed to think of his son’s prowess as yet another triumph of the Sindar over the Noldor. Elrond sighed; of course, Oropher would never concede the point that his much beloved son was a blend of the Eldar of Aman, the Falathrim and the Sindar!

Elrond was so immersed in his thoughts that he did not even see a construction pole left carelessly in the path until he had tripped clumsily over it and ended face down on the wet ground. Cursing, he pulled himself up and took a step forward when he slipped again and he found himself on the ground once more. Adding thrice to his distress, midnight blue robes blocked his vision. He had covertly watched the wearer that morning.

“Elrond! Are you all right?” slender, but strong hands pulled him up and he found himself staring into the black pools of Erestor’s eyes.

He tried to brush off the mud from his clothes before murmuring, “Forgot to look where I was going. Just one of those days when everything bad happens to you.”

Erestor did not reply, but he took a handkerchief from the pocket of his robes and gently wiped off the mud from Elrond’s face. The gentleness of that gesture shot a pang through his heart. If only he had realized he loved Erestor before that ill-fated evening.

“I should be going,” Elrond averted his eyes, “Have to meet with Oropher tomorrow. There’s a lot I have to do.”

“You should get some rest. You look worn out and that won’t impress Oropher,” Erestor said firmly, “I’ll do the meeting tomorrow. I get along quite well him once he finishes the ritual grievances against the Noldor in general and the house of Fësunin particular.”

Elrond sighed. He was feeling quite tired. His half-human heritage hindered him in these situations. While his workload was high, that of Erestor and Glorfindel was even more. And they were rarely exhausted. He had to agree with Erestor that Oropher would crow over the fact that the High King’s Herald was so exhausted and dishevelled. 

“Lord Elrond?” Erestor queried uncertainly.

“Don’t, Erestor!” Elrond closed his eyes tight shut his mind flying back to that morning when he had shouted at the latter, “Please don’t ‘lord’ me ever again.”

Erestor looked perplexed but nodded politely.

“Walk with me?” Elrond gathered up his courage, “Shall we watch the sunset together?”

Erestor looked into his eyes for one long instant before smiling wryly, “You are worse than Thranduil; so unpredictable.”

“Nobody can compare to Thranduil. The only thing that is predictable about him is his green robes,” Elrond admitted.

They walked in silence awhile before Elrond said nervously, “The other day, Erestor, I am sorry. I know I don’t really have the right to apologize, but I am sorry.” 

Erestor shook his head saying, “I should have been more calm. I was already tensed and our conversation, I should not have reacted as I did.”

“You are a true diplomat,” Elrond said wryly, “Good at sharing blame.”

“My skills as a diplomat extend only so far,” Erestor said nervously clasping and unclasping his hands, “May I ask you something that is beyond discretion?”

“I don’t harbour any feelings for Gil-Galad in that manner,” Elrond grinned understanding Erestor’s doubts, “He’s my sworn sword brother.”

Erestor smiled gratefully, “Thank you for not forcing me to phrase that question. I confess I had sleepless nights over that. So was it because I was from the house of Fëanor?”

Elrond stopped walking in astonishment, Did Erestor really think that was the reason? 

“I thought so,” Erestor watched Elrond’s face carefully, “Really, I should have seen it coming. But,” he paused uncertainly, “I somehow believed that you, of all people in Lindon, would understand the burden of a bloodline.”

Elrond broke in quickly, “I owe my life to you house, Erestor. Why would I think that? Maglor was my father, in all ways except blood, and I do envy you that. Maedhros was good to me and Elros in his own way,” he continued bitterly, “It was them who raised us, who were there for us all the way through our most difficult days. My father abandoned us to chart a course to Valinor. My mother valued the Silmarils more than she loved us,” he looked into Erestor’s eyes, “I still pray for Maglor’s salvation.”

Erestor said softly, “I am sorry. But Elrond, my father was never there for me. He was bound to his oath. I was raised by Glorfindel and Círdan. But I grieve for my father, for the misfortunes that were not of his own making.”

Elrond said quietly, “I see him in you, Erestor. His voice that could soothe my greatest fears, his talent, his steady calmness-”

Erestor seemed baffled. After a few moments, he continued, “Forgive me Elrond, but may I know why you think me unworthy of your cousin if my lineage does not matter?”

“I think Gil’s unworthy of you, ” Elrond said sincerely though his heart was screaming at him to tell Erestor the plain truth; that he loved him. 

Erestor shook his head disbelievingly.

“Do you love him as much as he’s besotted with you?” the words came out of Elrond’s mouth automatically.

Erestor replied thoughtfully, “I don’t know really. I care for him and like him well enough. But love of this kind is not something I am faintly experienced in. I am a novice in this. Indeed, before Gil’s proposal I had never even thought of love before.”

Elrond had to grin despite his own turmoil, “That makes two of us. I thought that I was the only one untouched in Lindon.”

Erestor said relieved, “I don’t know how to face that night. I fear I’ll disappoint him. I wanted to talk about this to someone. But I did not know how to start this topic. And everyone I know seems so experienced. Still I have to know how to do….it. Maybe I should ask someone…perhaps Glorfindel.”

Elrond sighed, “Glorfindel won’t help. I have never heard of him being involved in such things. He’s too old-fashioned and holds true to the morals of Aman.”

They walked slowly oblivious to the steadily darkening skies above them each deep in his own thoughts. 

“Maybe you could ask Thranduil?” Elrond suggested, “He’s the expert in these things.”

“Thranduil!” Erestor exclaimed scandalized, “If Oropher hears of it, whatever will he think of the Noldor? What will he say when I ask his son to give me bed advice?”

“He’ll just consider it another fact that illustrates the superiority of the Sindar,” a melodious voice informed them as Celeborn emerged from a side path smiling.

Elrond and Erestor stood shocked on realizing their not so politically correct conversation had a listener.

“It is a wonderful evening for a walk,” Celeborn said easily as he joined them.

Erestor seemed to be still in deep mortification, so Elrond cleared his throat uneasily before saying, “Indeed my Lord Celeborn, though I wish you had not overheard us.”

Celeborn laughed merrily, a sound that reminded Elrond of a bubbling stream, “Your idea was most excellent, Elrond. But Thranduil is spending the day with his father. So, if you don’t think my words offensive, I will be delighted to offer you my advice.”

Erestor stared at the silver haired Lord disbelievingly. Elrond wrung his hands. It was indeed a magnificent mess they had landed in. 

Erestor took a deep breath before asking quietly, “What does bonding involve exactly?”

“You mean other than the ceremony, of course,” Celeborn nodded understandingly, “It means you have to make love to complete the binding. Gil-Galad’s not inexperienced, Erestor. He will make it a memorable occasion. You don’t have to worry. When you bind, you shall be able to communicate with your mate in your mind at all times. It is perfect bliss, nothing to worry about.”

Erestor sighed saying, “You are right, my Lord, but I am still nervous. It is unchartered territory.”

Celeborn laughed saying, “I understand, these things have a way of making anyone frightened. I fainted before my marriage ceremony. Oropher still reminds me of it occasionally though it was millennia ago!”

“But, Lord Celeborn,” Elrond said teasingly, “Certainly you were not untouched before your marriage!”

“Of course not!” Celeborn said indignantly, “I, like any normal elf, had commenced my experiments once I reached my majority unlike you two! But still I was marrying Galadriel and that too for eternity!”

Elrond nodded sympathetically. He could well understand the fear in Celeborn’s case. Though he wondered why the Silver Tree had married Galadriel.

“Erestor!” Thranduil joined them, “You must come with me now! My father and Gil-Galad are having yet another shouting match at the barracks! Something to do with the Númenorians who have just arrived, I’ve left Glorfindel in charge.”

“Then you should steel yourself, Lord Counsellor,” Celeborn called after Erestor as the counsellor ran hurriedly after Thranduil, “I don’t think that Glorfindel will even try to alleviate the argument.”

“You are in trouble, Elrond,” Celeborn remarked quietly as they watched Erestor disappear into a side path.

Elrond swung around sharply, his eyes narrowed. Had Thranduil announced his secret to all his kin?

Celeborn smiled sadly saying, “My wife has a mirror, Elrond. But she won’t confront you. Instead she proposes a deal to keep your secret.”

 

________________________________________

* * *

The words rang in Elrond’s ears harshly. /“She proposes a deal”/

“What does she want from me?” Elrond asked grimly, “There is nothing she cannot ask Gil directly.”

Celeborn sighed as he averted his face, “Elrond, Galadriel wanted our only child to marry Gil, to ensure the continuity of the line of the Noldor High Kings. But now, with Gil adamant on young Erestor, she wants to ensure the continuity of your line, as you are the next in succession.”

Elrond spluttered, “Has she gone insane? She knows I’m already in love!”

“I cannot answer for her sanity, Elrond,” Celeborn said in a depressed tone, “But I must tell you that she intends to talk to Gil about your love if you don’t fall in with her wishes.”

Elrond said furiously, grabbing the elder elf’s hand and turning him around, “Why would she want to pawn her daughter’s love for the sake of the succession? And how can you speak so coolly about this? Have you thought atleast once about your daughter’s wishes?”

Celeborn said in a pained voice, “I have no choice in certain matters, Elrond. I can only say that my line seems to be doomed to loveless marriages. My child is attracted to her cousin, Thranduil. They are good friends. I agreed to tell you because I didn’t wish to be there when my wife tells her of her plans.”

“Your daughter has chosen someone more appropriate than me or Gil. Thranduil is a wonderful person, he will cherish your daughter for eternity as she deserves to be! But me? Celeborn, you will be condemning your child to live forever with a person who can never love her with all the heart, whom she can never love!” Elrond said firmly.

“Elrond, I knew there was going to be no other answer from you” , Celeborn groaned, “For the sake of the kingdom, we all have to make sacrifices!”

“Why should Celebrían and I do that when Gil hasn’t a care about heirs? Galadriel doesn’t need to worry. After all, the kingship shall certainly pass onto her descendants! Why should she pollute your clean bloodlines with peredhel blood?” Elrond wondered aloud.

Celeborn sighed, “I don’t know, Elrond, I don’t know anything. But I must warn you that my wife never goes back on her threats. If you don’t agree to this, then certainly she will ensure that there is no wedding on the day after tomorrow. You should talk to Gil before she does. Tell him everything.”

Elrond gulped, “I cannot talk to my cousin. He will never forgive me!” he continued blearily, “He might just start another round of Kinslayings. The way he looks at Erestor!” He shook off his passivity. There had to be some way out of this. He had to stop Galadriel. He turned to Celeborn who was watching the stars pensively.

“Can you lie to her for Celebrían’s sake?” Elrond asked him reluctantly wondering about his deproving moral values.

Celeborn looked at him quizzically.

“Stall her till tomorrow morning. Tell her I said I needed time to think. I am to give you an answer tomorrow morning.” Elrond begged him.

“And?” Celeborn queried worriedly, “What will you do?”

“I’ll think of something foolproof somehow,” Elrond said earnestly needing to badly believe his own words, “You have my eternal gratitude if you buy me time, Celeborn.”

Celeborn smiled wryly, “It won’t be the first lie in my marriage, Elrond. So no need for that eternal gratitude. After all it’s my child’s life. You will have the time.”

Elrond bowed gratefully and rushed back to the palace. But instead of making for his chambers, he discreetly took a seldom used corridor that led to the wing that housed the Sindar nobles. He would ask advice from a certain Sindarin prince. 

He strode through the deserted corridors. Everybody must be at dinner. He knocked at Thranduil’s door. There was no answer. He tried the lock. The door swung open. Thranduil had not even bothered to lock the door. Elrond frowned. If a Sindar noble saw him entering, then Oropher would certainly go lodge a complaint with the King stating that his herald had robbed the Prince. Oh well, Elrond assured himself mentally, he was already living on borrowed time. He closed the door after him and settled himself comfortably on a chair near the brightly burning fire. Everything in the room was tastefully decorated. For someone who had been brought up by a father, Thranduil had an amazing sense of style. 

The door swung open and a surprised Elrond found an equally surprised Oropher looking back at him. Elrond hastily got to his feet and bowed. 

“You?” Oropher said still surprised, “How?”

Elrond was wondering what plausible excuse could he give the stunned Green wood King when a sound echoed down the doorway, “What’s it, Ada?”

“My son, come here now!” Oropher’s tone was sharp.

Elrond heard hurried footsteps and a second later, a concerned Thranduil looked across his father’s shoulder into the room.

“Elrond?” Thranduil asked surprised.

“Don’t tell me it’s one of your clandestine activities,” Oropher looked at his son reprovingly, “I thought we had agreed that you would never ever touch a virgin!”

Elrond blushed as he realized Oropher’s conclusions on seeing him in the Prince’s room.  
“Ada-,” Thranduil started.

“My Lord,” Elrond hastily intervened, “I came here for no such thing. I merely wanted to speak with the Prince about an important matter.”

Oropher stared at him coldly before turning to face his bewildered looking son, “You come and see me before you sleep. We have to talk.”

“Ada,” Thranduil hugged Oropher tenderly, “I would never go against your wishes ever and I will never hide any mistake I may make from you.”

Oropher’s green eyes softened as he murmured, “I know, my son. I was merely surprised. I’ll see you tomorrow dawn. And we shall watch sunrise together as usual. Now, go to your friend.”

Elrond was shocked. Did Oropher actually refer to him as his son’s ‘friend’?

Thranduil bid his father goodnight and shut the door softly after him before ushering Elrond to a comfortable couch and placing a goblet of wine in his unresisting hands.

“Now, ,” Thranduil settled himself on the plush rug before the fire, “Tell me what was so wrong that you did not even appear at the banquet to honour our alliances?”

“I forgot about the banquet,” Elrond sighed, “One more fault to reach Gil’s ears won’t matter.”

Thranduil leaned forward wrapping his arms around his knees saying seriously, “Even my father has started to comment about your disappearances in the council meetings. You should be more careful, Elrond.”

Elrond said bluntly, “No point. Galadriel’s seen everything in that mirror of hers and now threatens to tell Gil.”

Thranduil asked stunned, “Why? If she does that the King will break off the marriage and take it on poor Erestor!”

Elrond rubbed his forehead wearily, “She wants a price for her silence. She wants me to marry her daughter.”

Half an hour later, Elrond had told the entire story to an incredulous Thranduil whose only remark was, “We should kidnap her tonight and send her to Valinor.”

“What shall I do?” Elrond said disgustedly, “I don’t care in the least about my happiness. I would do whatever Galadriel wants to save the wedding; but condemning that poor girl to a loveless eternal bond?”

Thranduil said determined, “There is a way, Elrond. But it will take a lot of courage,” he paused uncertainly, “But it may work perfectly.”

“Courage born of desperation,” Elrond muttered, “Does it involve Kinslaying with Galadriel as the victim?”

Thranduil laughed, “That will gain you Celeborn’s eternal love! But that wasn’t my idea. Elrond, get them to bind tonight.”

Elrond looked at Thranduil stunned unsure he had heard the words, “What?”

“Make them bind tonight,” Thranduil said with conviction, “Nothing Galadriel says or does can sever a Valar-witnessed bond after that.”

Elrond nodded. This would work, he was sure. But a part of his heart withered and died as he realized that with this, Erestor would entirely pass out of his hopes  
“Convince Gil to come to Erestor’s chambers. I’ll make Erestor agree,” Thranduil rose to his feet elegantly, his handsome face set in determination.

Five minutes later, Elrond paused a moment to regain his breath as he panted outside his cousin’s chambers. Calming himself, he knocked and entered. Gil-Galad was in his nightshirt, seated at his window, reading a long scroll in the torchlight.

He smiled on seeing his visitor, and said warmly, “Come in, cousin! It’s been long since I had your company.”

Elrond said abruptly, “There’s been trouble among the Lórien nobles, Gil, concerning your wedding. I fear grave consequences.”

“How so?” Gil-Galad smirked, “I’m still the King around here!”

“Galadriel’s on their side,” Elrond said quietly, watching as the expression on the King’s face changed from smugness to worry.

“That doesn’t change anything,” Gil-Galad blustered with false bravado. Elrond raised an eyebrow, something he had learned from Maedhros, causing Gil-Galad to modify hastily, “But I don’t want her as an enemy. Not even that Green wood King seeks an argument with her.”

Elrond remained quiet though he was surprised by his cousin’s indirect admission that Oropher was more courageous than him. Elrond knew that it was true, but to hear Gil-Galad admit it was entirely different.

“What shall we do, Elrond?” Gil-Galad asked Elrond in a troubled voice.

“We must surprise her, Gil. She should not be given the time to gather the Sindar and the Noldor together. We have time till tomorrow sunrise,” Elrond replied steadily.

“What do you mean, cousin?” Gil-Galad said suspiciously squinting at Elrond, “I hate it when you speak in that confident tone. It usually accompanies one of you dreaded plans. I think I would rather prefer Galadriel’s wiles to your plans.”

Elrond sighed, “Cousin, I would never treat the most important event in your life with anything less than its due. And, it is not my plan, if that is what scares you!”

Gil-Galad shook his head, “I know your heart’s goodness, Elrond. But that doesn’t mean that I am not relieved when you say it is not your plan. Tell me quickly, what shall we do?”

Elrond pondered silently. If he told the King that he had to bond with Erestor tonight, the disbelief, argument and refusal would be the only outcomes. So, it was much better to convey the King to the Chief counsellor’s chambers and then count on Thranduil to come up with something. The Prince had thus far proven to be a much better strategist than Elrond. 

“Cousin?” Gil-Galad asked worriedly.

“Let’s go talk to Erestor now, Gil. He may know what to do,” Elrond suggested, “You trust his advice.”

Gil-Galad queried anxiously, “You say the truth. He will know a way, but isn’t it harsh on him to solve the obstacles concerning his own marriage? He is young. I don’t want to upset him.”

“Erestor is wise for his years,” Elrond said with conviction, “And he has seen a lot worse than this and survived.”

“As have you,” Gil-Galad’s eyes softened, “You both make us all proud, and happy. And that Oropher’s spoilt brat too. You will all grow up to become great elves, leaders of our people.” 

“I hope I never carry your burdens, Gil,” Elrond joked, “It will distract me from my scheming! And anyway Oropher and you are tenacious, you will both lead our people back to Valinor.”

“Such things are hidden from even Galadriel, Elrond,” Gil-Galad reminded him, “But now, let us live in the present. You go and warn Erestor. I’ll follow you after I change into something more suitable.”

Elrond hurried to Erestor’s chambers. Thranduil was busy arranging soft rugs before the brightly burning fireplace. Glorfindel was also there, lighting scented candles quickly.

“Where’s he?” Thranduil asked Elrond frantically, as he made the bed perfectly. 

“Coming in a few moments. Erestor?” Elrond asked looking around the chambers.

Glorfindel spoke up, “In the bath. The Prince convinced him somehow. Though I don’t think that he is ready to take this step. He is too young and insecure.”

Thranduil said confidently, “I believe that he will manage quite well. Now let me leave before Gil-Galad suspects my hand in all this and gets cold feet. See you on the morrow.”

Glorfindel shrugged before Elrond could open his mouth and said impatiently, “I don’t blame you, Elrond, somethings are beyond our will to influence. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

Ten minutes later, Gil-Galad joined him in the antechamber. 

“He wishes to speak to you alone,” Elrond lied easily. It was quite interesting how he did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt while lying to his King and cousin.

Gil-Galad cursed Galadriel before entering the bedchamber and closing the door after him. 

Elrond went out into the gardens. He was panting as if he had run a long distance. Even from there, he could not block out the King’s cry of ‘Erestor’, as they bonded. 

/It is just the beginning, Peredhel. Your name will epitomize loss in the history of Middle-Earth./ A harsh female voice that he recognized instantly echoed in his mind.

“Galadriel!” he spat out, “What will you know of loss?”

The voice laughed bitterly, /Ask you that of Finarfin’s daughter? I have known losses more than you could ever imagine. But, Peredhel, I am glad to say that which I have borne pale in comparison to that which you shall bear/

“I will not succumb,” Elrond replied boldly.

/Do not tempt the Fates, Peredhel, they are fickle. You will understand that one day even as I did. Until then, Elrond/ the voice dimmed away.

Elrond was still cursing softly, shaken after Galadriel’s incursion into his mind, when a pair of strong hands pulled him into a sitting position. 

“Has my son ravished you so much that you cannot even sit?” Oropher’s voice brought him back to reality.

He shook himself and said tersely, “I have to leave, my Lord. I have a busy schedule.” An encounter with Oropher after an argument with Galadriel would drive him to swim across all the way to Valinor, Elrond reflected grimly.

“What is wrong?” Oropher’s voice had changed, “Should I get Glorfindel? Or perhaps I should send word to Gil-Galad?”

“No!” Elrond said panicking, “Gil must not be disturbed. I don’t want to worry him or Glorfindel or anyone else.”

Oropher’s eyes seemed to penetrate his very soul as he said gently, “You are not yourself.”

“I,” Elrond paused, Why was he opening up so frankly to Oropher? Now he realized from whom Thranduil had inherited his concern for fellow-beings, “I was simply lonely. I do feel very lonely sometimes. Especially during the onset of spring. It is when my brother sailed for Númenor.” It was a truth though only partially. 

Oropher seemed to see through his deception, but swiftly changed the topic saying, “Let us watch Sunrise. Nothing like a sunrise to boost up your spirits. Though my son is asleep like an innocent elfling.”

As the Sindar King helped him up to his feet, Elrond asked nervously, “Don’t you hate me?”

Oropher smiled, “My dislike of the Noldor in general has nothing to do with my treatment of the Noldor in particular.”

Elrond was still pondering the meaning of this statement when Oropher said softly, “Loneliness is something I have suffered from greatly and I don’t want anyone else to choose it willingly.”

Elrond held his breath. Though the tragic tale of Oropher’s ill-fated love for Ingwë’s granddaughter was the stuff of lore and the tale sung widely by bards all over Middle-Earth, Oropher himself rarely spoke of Vanima. 

“I thought I would die after they took her away across the sea. I could not follow her. They had left behind our innocent babe on this side of the sea. How could I follow her when our son had no sea-call yet? No boat would have carried us across. I could not abandon him here alone too. Her last request was that I be there for our son always,” Oropher’s eyes misted over, “When Círdan’s elves came to me bearing an epistle from Ingwë himself, I thought we had been finally forgiven and our love accepted. It almost killed me when the King of Aman informed me that his grandchild, my wife, had faded away in Valinor. I started fading, the call of Mandos was strong upon me, but Celeborn and Círdan pulled me back reminding me of the promise.”

“You seem so strong always,” Elrond could not help remarking, “You don’t look as if you had once reached the Halls of Mandos.”

“You see me now, strong and proud. Then I was weaker than the weakest in Middle-Earth. My son, Vanima’s son, our flesh, our blood, memories of our times together. He brought me back to the living. Each breath I took was for him, is still for him,” Oropher sighed softly, “People say I have spoilt him rotten. How can I not when I see his mother in his every action?”

“You did not spoil him rotten,” Elrond retorted, “He’s my most trusted friend. He is honourable, wise and courageous. And he respects you the most. I have always wondered at and envied the strong bond between you two.”

Oropher sensed Elrond’s sorrow and said quietly, “Your cousin loves you as a son. Celeborn always remarks on the King’s ready defence of your acts.”

“Speaking of Lord Celeborn,” Elrond said quietly, “How did you agree to him marrying the Lady Galdriel?”

“I did not agree,” Oropher said easily, “But it was between them, and only the Valar know what made them fall in love. Yes,” he continued amusedly seeing Elrond’s disbelieving expression, “They were very much in love then or the Lady was an excellent actress. I think it was Galadriel that changed. The ring changed her, the mirror changed her, the gift of foresight changed her. She is no longer the woman Celeborn wooed and wed. But,” Oropher said confidently, “She remains the woman he loves. As he remains the man she loves.”

________________________________________

* * *

Elrond returned to his rooms in a much relieved frame of mind after watching the sunrise with Oropher. He drew himself a warm bath. After lounging about in the pool for an hour, he dove into his bed and slept peacefully till late afternoon. A persistent knocking on his doors woke him up. He opened the door bleary eyed to find himself face to face with Glorfindel.

“We have been searching for you since morning, Elrond,” he said with a worried frown, “Your bed had not been slept in last night and I was worried to death!”

“Glorfindel,” Elrond stifled a yawn, “I was out in the gardens, and then overslept. Is something the matter?”

The First Age hero smiled saying, “Nothing that I cannot handle. Even the royal couple have not yet emerged from Erestor’s chambers. But if you want, you are welcome to chair today’s meeting with the Sindar nobles. They were very depressed when they found out that there was nobody to pick a fight with.”

“I think I’d rather sleep than meet them,” Elrond admitted, “But I will join you in a few minutes. I don’t want to add to your work. Already between us, it will be tough to split Erestor’s work.”

“Are you all right?” Glorfindel asked more seriously.

“Fine,” Elrond smiled at him, “I had an excellent partner in my wanderings yesterday night.”

The reborn elf looked curious but seeing that Elrond did not want to name the person, he simply nodded and left.

Elrond got into his formal robes and made his way towards the barracks slowly.

“Lord Elrond,” a clear female voice hailed him from behind.

Elrond turned and watched a tall, beautiful young woman walk towards him with stately grace. There was nothing familiar about her to Elrond. But he realized that she was of noble blood, maybe one of those from the Havens. He seldom mixed with Círdan’s people and did not know most of them.

He bowed politely as she joined him. An expression of uncertainty flashed a moment in those blue eyes before she imitated Elrond’s gesture.

“Forgive me,” Elrond said politely, “But I don’t think I have had the honour of meeting you before in Lindon’s court.”

“I apologize,” the young woman said quickly, “I did not want to wait till an official introduction,” Elrond raised an eyebrow, the lady continued flustered, “I am Anoriel of Lothlórien. My father is the King Amdir.”

Elrond bowed again and kissed her hand formally, a strange feeling of shock shot through him, he let go hastily of her hand and looked up into the young woman’s twinkling eyes.

“I beg your pardon again, My Lord,” she smiled, “We share the blood of Melian the Maia. And it has some interesting properties.” 

“So we are kin,” Elrond smiled back warmly, it felt enriching to know that he still had kin left on Middle-Earth, however distantly related, “I must say that King Oropher chose well.”

The young woman blushed before saying softly, “That is what I wanted to speak about. About the Prince. I barely know anything of him. Lord Celeborn asked me to approach you. He said you are a good friend of the Prince.”

Elrond offered his arm, “Let us walk together, my Lady and I shall try to answer whatever questions you may have concerning Thranduil.”

Anoriel took the proffered arm and said quietly, “I have heard that he is a great warrior.”

“He is,” Elrond agreed, “But tell me, how is it that you have never met him before?””

“My father,” Anoriel said sullenly, “rarely takes me to courts or festivities. I haven’t met half the nobles of his court.”

Elrond felt a pang of loss as he listened to Amdir’s protectiveness of his child. Not for the first time, he reflected on his parents’ desertion of two elflings.

“Even now, he insists that I meet the Prince only for the betrothal ceremony. I know he will have only my best interests at heart. King Oropher is a honourable person and his son will be certainly so. But,” the lady paused before facing Elrond, “I wish to know what he is really like.”

Elrond smiled, “I understand, my Lady. But I must admit that explaining the enigma that is Thranduil is not an easy task,” he drew a deep breath, “He is wise, valorous and handsome. Even we Noldor admit that he is all these.”

“I have heard that the Prince is close to his father,” Anoriel observed.

“Yes,” Elrond agreed, “they are very close. Oropher raised him all alone. Thranduil never crosses any of his father’s choices. But there is no need to, I guess. Even in matters of the heart, Oropher knows who will suit his son.”

“Lord Celeborn was saying that Oropher merely wanted Maia blood in his descendants,” Anoriel said quietly, “That the King loves pure and noble bloodlines.”

Elrond laughed, “Well, Thranduil himself is a crucible of many bloodlines; Falathrim, Sindar and Eldar, if your Sylvan and Maian blood too join, then the result will be entertaining. But my Lady, I’m sure that Oropher did not agree to this alliance because of your blood. He knows his son’s heart and will not play with it. He knows probably that you are meant to be Thranduil’s mate for ever.”

Anoriel smiled, “You lighten my heart, Lord Elrond.”

“If it would not displease your father over much, I can ask Thranduil to meet you here tonight,” Elrond offered knowing that the Lady was nervous about the marriage with an unknown elf, “ Do you attend the wedding festivities tonight?”

Anoriel beamed at Elrond, “That would be wonderful! I think I may be better after meeting this enigma. And no, I will not attend the festivities,” she leaned in closer to Elrond, “I left Lórien after Ada’s procession left. He does not know that I’m here. And I would rather that my first trip away from home be allowed to continue undisturbed.”

Elrond gaped, “You mean-?”

She giggled, “Yes, my Lord, I’m staying with Lady Celebrían, my friend. Only her parents know that I’m here.”

Elrond said disbelievingly, “All of Lindon will be here tonight. I think you should wear a hood tonight if you wish to evade detection. Come an hour after sunset. I shall wait with Thranduil near the summerhouse. You are one determined young woman! How many will escort you?”

“None, do I have to expect an ambush?,” she said smiling as Elrond shook his head again, “I will wear a green hood then, for you to recognize me.” 

 

“Are you sure that all these recent developments have not touched your head?” a certain Sindar Prince was asking Elrond dubiously.

Elrond sighed, “All right, choose not to believe me, let your bride wait in vain there…alone,” he added maliciously watching with satisfaction as Thranduil’s eyebrows shot up.

“If Amdir knows he will murder me,” Thranduil groaned, “and how will I escape from the ceremony under Ada’s eye?”

“You need to relieve yourself exactly one hour after sunset. Drink lots of water,” Elrond supplied smirking.

“It is fine for you to talk when I am risking my skin,” Thranduil mumbled, “I am in a quandary. I cannot ignore her wish and I will be in trouble, big trouble if I go there.” 

“Why did you agree to the alliance when you have not even seen her?” Elrond queried curiously.

“Ada saw her,” Thranduil shrugged, “I trust his choice.”

“And love?” Elrond persisted, “If she is not your true love then?”

“She can’t be,” Thranduil shrugged again, “I prefer male company.. But I am the Crown Prince. So I have to marry and raise heirs. As you should too. With the crown comes duty, Elrond and we cannot shirk it even it seems onerous. It is not the first political marriage to happen. I suppose in that light, it is wise for her and me to atleast try to like each other. We’ll be stuck together for eternity. Might as well as enjoy it.”

 

Elrond dressed in warm maroon velvet robes for the evening festivities. He and Glorfindel were in charge of escorting the guests to the pavilions. Wine flowed freely and the bards sung romantic ballads. There was much gaiety and splendour as the best of Middle-Earth turned up. Glorfindel was soon trading tavern stories with the dwarf contingent, leaving an irritated Elrond to escort an equally irritated Círdan to the pavilion. 

Men came from the settlements near Eregion. Elrond had to put with Glorfindel’s laughter when the youngest daughter of their leader, Aldor, remarked loudly, “You must be very old, Lord Elrond!”

Gil-Galad arrived soon after arm in arm with his aunt, Galadriel. Elrond turned away hastily from her stare and faced the next royal guest.

“Lord Elrond!” King Amdir of Lórien bowed deeply. Next to him was Celeborn. The King of Lothlórien did not look like he knew that his best friend had smuggled out his only daugher under his very nose. Celeborn winked knowingly at Elrond.

Trying to remain composed, Elrond murmured, “King Amdir, Lord Celeborn,” he hastily led them to their seats before returning to his post thinking of how excellent an actor the Silver Tree was. Maybe, he reflected, it was necessary to survive in Galadriel’s company.

“The Noldor Herald is day dreaming?” The Sindar had arrived. A very pompous and fat noble was commenting about Elrond’s lapse in attention. Elrond tried to catch Glorfindel’s attention. He needed help here. But the Balrog Slayer was busy flirting with a she-dwarf. 

Taking a deep breath, Elrond bowed to the Sindar nobles graciously, “Let me escort you to your seats.”

“And who will escort our King?” the nobles sneered. 

Where was Glorfindel when you needed him? Elrond silently cursed the Balrog Slayer in Dwarvish.

“Allow me to escort your King,” Gil-Galad appeared suddenly at Elrond’s side taking charge of the tense situation from a relieved Elrond. Soon Oropher was escorted by Gil-Galad merrily as if they were life long friends. The Sindar nobles followed them leaving Elrond alone with Thranduil who whispered worriedly, “Do I look all right?”

Elrond turned to look at his friend who was wearing deep green silk robes that accentuated every curve on his body. His hair was left loose except for two restraining braids above his ears. He was wearing atleast one ring per finger. A faint scent of pine lingered on him. His green eyes were slightly apprehensive.

“Have you asked such a question ever before in your life?” Elrond asked teasingly, “You seem set out to impress.”

Thranduil fidgeted, “You are right. I feel nervous like I have never felt before. Maybe,” he shrugged, “it’s because I have never had an arranged meeting before. How do I look? I wanted to wear a colour other than green. But Ada wouldn’t let me!”

Elrond grinned, “I won’t forget this day, wait until I tell this to Glorfindel!” Seeing the look on Thranduil’s face he hastily added, “You look stunning, more than usual.”

“Thank you,” Thranduil muttered before stalking away to join his father.

Still smirking, Elrond made his way to Glorfindel who was frowning very visibly at him.

“Are you trying to get my attention?” he asked the Balrog Slayer.

“Yes,” Glorfindel said irritably, “Have been waiting for you to finish talking to that spoilt princeling. Gil wants you to go fetch Erestor from his chambers.”

“Why me?” Elrond had paled considerably at the mention of Erestor’s name. He had been trying hard to ignore the hollow feeling in his heart all day. But it returned with a vengeance on hearing Erestor’s name.

Glorfindel sighed sympathetically, “He was adamant about it. Wouldn’t do to cross him. You try to keep your emotions under check. Galadriel’s watching like a hawk.” True enough the Lady of the golden wood was scrutinizing them from her position near Gil-Galad, “Now go, they are waiting for him to arrive.”

 

He knocked on the door of Erestor’s chambers nervously shifting from one foot to the other. 

“Elrond?” Erestor’s voice asked from the other side.

“Yes,” the door opened and a slightly nervous looking Erestor beckoned him in. He was wearing deep red robes that made him look handsome and mysterious at the same time. 

“Gil wanted me to fetch you,” Elrond informed him.

Erestor nodded before saying quietly, “I think I’m ready for it. Shall we?”

Elrond offered his arm and they walked silently to the gardens. When they were nearing the pavilions, Erestor said softly, “Lady Galadriel has offered her daughter’s hand for you.”

Elrond replied, “Lord Celeborn suggested it to me in one of our recent meetings.”  
Before Erestor could respond, the nobles parted way for them.

“Ah!” Círdan accosted them, “He’s here! Gil!”

Gil-Galad arrived beaming and offered his right arm to Erestor. Elrond watched with increasing nausea as the happy couple climbed the raised dais and kissed lovingly to the applause of the onlookers. The bells chimed merrily, and the couple opened the ball enthusiastically. Soon most of the elves were dancing and a few were crowding the food tables. The dwarves were concentrated near the ale flagons. The men were watching the splendour of the First Born. 

Thranduil was dancing with the most beautiful young woman in the gathering. Elrond made his way through the dancing throng till he reached the Sindar Prince, who looked at his father surreptiously. Oropher was dancing with a pretty young woman. Thranduil hastily pressed a light kiss on his disappointed dance partner’s lips and joined Elrond. They made their way silently to the summerhouse. It was deserted. 

Elrond settled himself at the base of a fountain while Thranduil paced nervously before him.

“Stop pacing! This is one thing that even I’m sure won’t impress her,” Elrond said soothingly.

Thranduil sighed, but joined him. After a few moments, a hooded figure glided slowly towards them. Thranduil stiffened. Elrond stood up and asked softly, “Who is it?”

The hood was thrown back and the fair features of Amdir’s daughter emerged. Thranduil stood up elegantly and bowed saying, “Thranduil, son of Oropher, at your service, My Lady.”

The lady blushed slightly but bowed to the two Lords saying, “Anoriel of Lothlórien.” 

Elrond stepped between them saying, “I do not wish to be an obstacle now. My prince, I will be with Lord Glorfindel. My Lady, take due caution during your stay in Lindon and do not hesitate to seek me out if you need anything.”

 

Elrond joined the other revellers, Gil-Galad was dancing with Galadriel. Erestor approached Elrond saying, “Why are you not dancing?”

“Erestor!” Elrond tilted his head in acknowledgement, “Why are you not dancing?”

“I was, until now. Thranduil’s sudden absence has made all the women in a tizzy. Every elf is hunted for the dances,” Erestor smiled wryly, “Glorfindel is having a great time. So is Celeborn. They don’t mind the absence of Thranduil. Speaking of which,” Erestor paused thoughtfully, “Oropher was asking me about his son’s whereabouts.”

“Well,” Elrond said smoothly, “He must have found a dalliance. Come, Erestor, grace me with a dance.”

Erestor smiled and accepted the extended hand. Together they danced for almost an hour until an anxious Amdir halted the ministrels and asked the revellers, “Has anyone seen Prince Thranduil of Greenwood?”

The elves looked at each other. Elrond tried to smooth his features into neutrality. He hated Amdir for the interruption. He had been enjoying their dance and light conversation. Erestor made a wonderful dance partner. It was a pity that Gil-Galad preferred to cavort about with women.

“My son,” a haughty yet melodic voice drawled from behind Elrond, “is indisposed.”

Amdir frowned, several of the surrounding nobles exchanged meaningful smirks. 

The marchwarden of the Golden wood whispered into Amdir’s ear, “He is certainly indulging in one of his clandestine activities.”

Oropher raised an eyebrow serenely.

“The Prince was in high spirits when he left, My lord Oropher!” Amdir retorted, “I demand to see him now!”

Several of the Noldor sniggered as the Sindar nobles fought amongst themselves, a group justifying Amdir and the rest opposing him.

“Why would you want to see my son now?” Oropher asked politely, “I say he’s indisposed and that means he is indisposed.”

Gil-Galad was hurriedly approaching the two Kings as the Dwarves and the Men watched the escalating argument excitedly.

Haldir spoke up, “Then we would not find your son in bed with an elf, dwarf or man if we were to search for him?”

The sudden outcry from the surrounding crowd made Haldir realize he had crossed the limits. 

Gil-Galad swiftly spoke, “Let the ministrels continue with their singing. This can be continued in a more private setting.”

“No, My Lord,” Oropher’s eyes were blazing, “The good march warden of Lórien has insulted the Crown Prince of Greenwood before all of us. And he must answer for that.”

Amdir said harshly, “There is no insult, my Lord Oropher, when the words are true. Summon the Prince.”

Elrond spoke up hastily, “The Prince was not feeling himself. I conveyed him myself to his chambers.”

Amdir said curtly, “I will not listen to a Noldor peredhel’s words! I demand better explanation.” 

Gil-Galad bristled but remained silent. Erestor gripped Elrond’s palm tightly in a gesture of comfort and solace. Elrond returned the gesture though he felt he should remind Amdir that he shared Anoriel’s heritage.

Oropher said mildly, “Cousin Amdir, you are free to search for my son. But I advise you not to. Because then you may have to apologized not only to my son, Lord Herald and me, but also to your entire court who are right now defending your words.”

Amdir’s eyes narrowed as he said angrily, “What do you mean?”

Elrond was now very carefully observing Oropher. There was an aura of smugness about the King which did not bode well for the King of Lórien. 

________________________________________

* * *

“Here comes my son,” Oropher said suddenly as Thranduil emerged from a concealed path looking pleased with himself. He halted next to Círdan as he watched the scene before him with curiosity.

“Ada?” he queried uncertainly.

Amdir stood straighter and spoke in his coldest tone, “Where were you, Prince? We have all been searching for you futilely.”

Thranduil looked slightly bewildered as he replied, “My Lord Amdir, you should not have been concerned but I thank you for it all the same.”

“Were you having one of your rumoured clandestine activities?” Amdir asked harshly.

“I was merely walking with the one I intend to marry,” Thranduil replied coldly before walking to his father’s side.

An outburst of shouts from the Lórien nobles greeted this statement. Even the Dwarves and the men were watching the scene with apprehension now. Gil-Galad was muttering about how his gardens were going to witness a Kinslaying for Haldir and Amdir had unsheathed their swords as had most of the other Sindar nobles.

“How, Oropher!” Amdir roared, “What do you say now? You broker a marriage with my daughter and now your son insults me with his brash words! What does this say about the famed obedient, loving son you brag about?”

Gil-Galad and the rest were looking at Thranduil as if they were seeing the prince for the first time. Even a few of the Green wood nobles were now anxiously watching Oropher and Thranduil. 

Erestor said quietly, his clear voice carrying through the now silent gathering, “It is a pity that all this happened before our honoured guests. Now, let us settle this quickly before it escalates further.”

“And how do you propose to do that, son of Maglor?” Haldir sneered.

“That I am,” Erestor replied composedly, “But I now speak as the Chief counsellor to the High King, and as such I am the highest authority in deciding all disputes within the city of Lindon.”

“And what is your decision, Lord Erestor?” Thranduil asked, “I would have this settled amicably before it dampens the festivities.”

“My Prince,” Erestor smiled slightly, “Would you tell us where your walking partner hails from?”

Haldir said in a carrying whisper, “From Erebor,” causing several dwarves to shout indignantly.

“From the Golden Woods of Lothlórien,” Thranduil said simply.

“You cavort with one of my people when you are to be betrothed to my daughter!” Amdir spluttered.

A rustle of robes signalled the arrival of a hooded form that quietly approached Amdir. The figure knelt at Amdir’s feet and a woman’s voice said sadly, “Father, tis me and not the Prince who should face your displeasure.”

Amdir whispered shocked as he raised the figure to her feet, “Anoriel! What are you doing here?”

Celeborn was edging away towards the dwarf contingent increasing his distance from Amdir. 

“I wanted to see the Prince for myself atleast once before the betrothal. I called him to the gardens tonight. We talked for a while before he returned here,” Anoriel paused, before removing her hood and bowing to the crowd, “I apologize to the King and Prince of Greenwood for the insults they had to hear. I do apologize to the court of Lórien and Greenwood for causing discord amongst two friendly realms,” she turned back to face an ashen faced Amdir, “And father, I don’t think I’ll ever merit your forgiveness for this.”

Erestor was the first to recover, he signalled the ministrels to begin and pulled Elrond along onto the dance floor. The tension eased as Glorfindel and then Círdan and Celeborn joined them. Gil-Galad joined them with a pretty young woman and Erestor whispered to Elrond, “Lady Celebrían.”

Elrond looked at her curiously. She had Galadriel’s pale, blonde features. But she had a well-formed, rounded figure unlike the bony figures of Galadriel’s house. That along with a merry expression on her face and bubbling laughter underlined Celeborn’s Sindarin legacy. Gil-Galad was twirling her about easily and she laughed joyfully causing an expression of pride to settle on her father’s features.

Oropher and Thranduil were still facing the Lórien elves. 

Amdir said quietly, “Lord Oropher, Prince Thranduil, I apologize for my insulting words and those of my nobles. It seems my parenting skills and not yours are to be blamed for this discord.”

Oropher sighed saying, “Amdir , you should have more trust in me. However I seek no apologies for this. My son, take the girl to the dance floor, and let me retrieve my wonderful dancing partner, Lady Celebrían, from the Noldor,” he turned back to Amdir with a wink saying, “We should not postpone the betrothal discussions, my lord. We have to prove that these Noldor weddings are nothing when compared to those of the Sindar.”

Anoriel smiled nervously at her father before joining Thranduil on the dance floor. 

“They make a good couple,” Erestor remarked as Elrond and he swept past them. 

“Yes, ,” Elrond grinned as Thranduil took a wrong step. It was the first time that he was seeing the self-assured prince falter during a dance. And Anoriel too was blushing each time her eyes met her partner’s. 

“Who would have thought that our Prince would settle down with a maid?” Erestor wondered, “Everyone was betting on Lord Galdor or Haldir,” he paused as he saw Glorfindel kiss a brown haired young woman in the middle of the dance oblivious to the surroundings, “Elrond, that is my sister, Menelwen that the Balrog Slayer is kissing as if his life depended on it.”

Elrond watched the passionately kissing couple. It was the first time that he had seen such an expression of love and fervour on Glorfindel’s features. His object of love did not resemble Erestor or Galadriel or Maglor or Maedhros or anyone from the house of Fësunor Finarfin that Elrond had met thus far. 

“She takes after my mother, it is told,” Erestor interpreted Elrond’s raised eyebrows correctly, “But,” his face sobered, “Glorfindel loves her very deeply. Yet he still does not agree to a binding ceremony saying he is too old for her. It hurts them both terribly.”

Elrond asked curiously, “Why is it that Glorfindel has never told anyone about his love?”

“As I said,” Erestor neatly manoeuvred them away from Gil-Galad who was giddily dancing with the Queen of Gondor, “Glorfindel thinks she is too young. It is ironic that she is in fact far older than her younger brother whose binding ceremony they are now celebrating! He will drive her away if he persists in this foolishness.”

“No, Erestor,” Elrond looked deep into those eyes he loved, “Love may stay hidden, but it can never be driven away.”

“You talk as if you have experience,” Erestor teased him.

Elrond merely smiled before changing the topic swiftly. He wished the night would never end as he glanced at the long fingers interlaced with his own. It felt so right….until Gil-Galad requested Erestor’s hand for the next dance leaving Elrond alone. Not feeling upto watch them dance, he made his excuses and left quietly. 

 

Elrond was one of the few up early the next morning as most of the late night revellers were still sleeping off Celeborn’s excellent First Ager. It had proved to be more potent than the Dorwinion from Green wood. He had stayed away after remembering his own fracas with the wine in Thranduil’s company barely two days ago. He made his way quietly through the deserted hallways towards the stables. It had been long since he had last ridden out at dawn. Anyway it was unlikely that anyone would turn up for work that day. He might as well as enjoy the spring morning all by himself near the seashore.

“ELROND!” an urgent shout from the direction of the road leading out of Lindon roused him from his musing. Oropher was already horsed and rode up to him hurriedly. 

“Elrond!” Oropher said relieved, “I am glad I ran into you. I had despaired of finding anyone sensible this morning. I received news at dawn that my realm as well as Amdir’s is under attack from Mordor. They say Eregion and Human settlements has already fallen before us. Now, I am riding out with my elves for home. Amdir has already left. So has Celebrimbor. Take news to your elves. I would have told Lord Gil-Galad myself. But I am afraid I have no time.”

Elrond gasped, “My Lord, Will the elves be able to ride hard today after such feasting yester eve?”

“Well,” Oropher said with a resolute face, “Thoughts of your home in peril can bring sense into the most afflicted elves. But I do think that Sindar has a better resistance to the First Ager than the Noldor. We are attuned to the Dorwinion.” 

“I won’t delay you then, My Lord,” Elrond said determined, “Ride safe, Elbereth keep you and your elves safe. I’ll inform the rest.”

Oropher smiled at Elrond, one of his few rare smiles usually reserved for his son, and said, “You’ll do.”

Elrond bowed low and kissed Oropher’s signet ring, a gesture he had never accorded the Sindar King ever before. But now he felt a vague sense of premonition and he murmured, “May the Valar be with you, My Lord.”

Oropher scrutinized him before nodding curtly and turning his mount around. Elrond did not wait for the King to disappear from sight as he ran back towards the palace shouting for Glorfindel at the top of his voice.

“GLORFINDEL!” he shouted again. 

“Lord Elrond!” Círdan’s angry voice sounded from behind him, “Some of us are sleeping off yesterday’s festivities. If you would remember that!”

“I have no time for your advice,” Elrond said curtly, “Eregion is under attack. So is Green wood and the Golden Wood!”

Shock freezed the mariner for an instant. Then he quickly replied, “I’ll go find Glorfindel. You run along and find the King!”

Elrond nodded and they parted hurriedly, Elrond running towards the King’s chambers and Círdan towards Glorfindel’s rooms.

Elrond fidgeted outside Gil-Galad’s bedchamber. He had been knocking without respite for almost fifteen minutes without answer. As he debated whether or not to break open the door, a clear voice hailed him, “Elrond! I had been searching for you since dawn.”

Elrond turned to find Erestor behind him. The Chief counsellor was attired in a black tunic and tight leggings. It made him look younger and more approachable without the formality of his usual ceremonial robes. But Elrond shook himself out of his musings as he recalled the reason for his arrival.

“Eregion,” he began.

“Yes, Elrond,” Erestor cut in sharply, “I heard the news from Thranduil today at dawn. I hurried to your chambers, but you were not there. So I aroused Glor and he’s already left with those who could be awakened out of their slumber along with Lord Celebrimbor.”

Elrond sighed relieved. Erestor was probably the most cool-headed and logical person in Lindon. No wonder Gil trusted his opinion so much. Gil! He asked anxiously, “Gil?”

“Yet one more victim of Celeborn’s wine,” Erestor sighed, “I think it better for us to assume charge now and let him sleep it over. I plan on leaving Lord Galdor and Lord Círdan here in charge and then we both should lead the reinforcements as fast as we can to Eregion. If Eregion falls Amdir and Oropher and even Moria will be in danger.”

“Won’t he be angry?” Elrond frowned, Gil-Galad had a tendency to dominate things. Wha would happen if he learnt his seneschal, herald and chief counsellor had ridden off to war without his knowledge. Especially when the said chief counsellor also happened to be his bonded mate

“Well,” Erestor said calmly, “We’ll deal with it later. Right now, we should lead the soldiers to Eregion.”

“I think you should stay here,” Elrond said firmly, “Lindon needs someone of authority.”

“The King is here. So is Lord Círdan,” Erestor replied, “I will be needed at Eregion.”

Elrond raised his voice authoratively, “I think the battlefield is no place for your skills, Erestor! What will Gil have to say when he knows that I allowed you to march to Eregion? No, you remain here.”

Erestor’s eyes darkened almost imperceptibly as he said quietly, “As you say, it is a battlefield there. And I don’t intend to let Glor face it alone. I am his sworn sword brother. And my skills are quite enough to keep me alive, I daresay. Whether I ride with you or alone is the only decision you can take, Lord Elrond.”

“Erestor,” Elrond said softly, “I will watch his back. He will return safely. But please don’t ride to battle. I know you are quite a warrior, but--”

Erestor interrupted, “Elrond, Who will watch your back then?”

“We are not sworn sword brothers,” Elrond said quietly, trying to keep his emotions, that had been so affected by Erestor’s question, under control.

“Do we need to be?” Erestor asked softly, his eyes boring into Elrond’s, “Would you watch someone you care for leave for battle and remain behind?”

Elrond did not reply as he battled with his emotions. It was foolish to think that Erestor would remain unaware of Elrond’s feelings for him after everything was laid bare in Elrond’s eyes. 

“We ride together in an hour. Call your soldiers and I’ll meet with Lords Galdor and Círdan in the meanwhile,” Erestor bowed and left with his usual sedate pace leaving Elrond drained.

________________________________________

* * *

The forces of Lindon rode out that morning bearing the High King’s banner under the lead of Elrond and Erestor. 

Despite the urgent nature of their duty and the grim faced elves surrounding him, Elrond found that being on the trail had its merits. For Erestor proved to be more than a worthy companion. The Chief counsellor could talk serenely about the weather even while riding hard alongside Elrond. Once or twice Elrond’s mount threatened to topple him as he laughed helplessly at Erestor’s sarcasm which seemed to have no bounds. Erestor’s black stallion, a gift from Glorfindel, which the counsellor named Ebony aptly was yet another source of amusement. For Ebony seemed to believe that it was the most eligible amongst all the stallions in the army to win the affections of Elrond’s brown mare, Dance. 

Now, as they rode across the undulating plains towards Eregion, Elrond watched Ebony inching closer to his mare and tentatively rubbing his nose against hers. 

“He seems to think it’s the wooing season,” Erestor remarked as he prodded Ebony back into a straight line. 

“It is,” Elrond smiled, “Gil’s mare and Glorfindel’s Aslafoth were fornicating in the stables earlier yesterday. Aslafoth is a good foundation sire. Gil insists on the foals always. I still remember the days when Glorfindel and Gil would wrestle for hours on end. To the winner goes the foal.”

“They are both worse than Elflings sometimes,” Erestor admitted, “Tenacious, hard to manage and hopelessly insensitive. Guess Oropher was the only one who was blessed with the perfect son around here.”

“Thranduil wasn’t so perfect when he was dancing yesterday with his soon to be fiancée!,” Elrond reminded him, “They were both so ensnared by each other. Oropher knows his son more than anyone else!”

“How?” Erestor’s mien became sombre again, “How do you know that the other is the exact person for you for eternity?”

Elrond shrugged uneasily, “Guess you’ll have to ask Celeborn or Oropher. I have always wondered why Celeborn bonded with Galadriel and why Oropher risked damnation for Princess Vanima. Oropher’s love must have run deep for all that they endured.”

“Yes,” Erestor said pensively, “I have heard Círdan say that Oropher looked more dead than alive when they returned from the battle carrying his infant son in his arms. He told Círdan that the only thing that kept him alive was his vow to Vanima; that he would raise Thranduil as a worthy descendent of Ingwë. And he has succeeded, I daresay.”

Elrond’s thoughts once again turned to his parents. Did his mother love the Silmarils more than she loved her children? Was his father so obsessed by the route to the west that he could not be there for his kin? And did Elros want mortality and kingship more than his brother’s love? 

Erestor said sharply, “The outriders are back, I’ll ride on and meet them, marshall our forces. We are nearing the borders of Eregion.”

Elrond watched uneasily as Erestor galloped towards the two riders hurrying to meet the main host. His mind gave one of its alarm signals as Erestor met the riders and conversed with them excitedly. A shriek sounded from their north and one of the riders fell from his mount limply, an orc arrow protruding from between his shoulder blades. As Elrond watched in mounting horror, Erestor wheeled about instantly to face the threat, his sword drawn. A group of fifteen orcs surrounded him quickly. The remaining rider panicked, broke through the enemy lines and cantered back to the main host leaving Erestor alone.

Elrond raised his sword and shouted, “Archers! Take them down but harm not the Lord Erestor!”

He charged with twenty of his men, their swords drawn. As he rode madly, he could see Erestor swirling about in a deadly circle, trying to prevent the orcs from nearing him, Erestor’s face was set in a death mask, the features cold and so reminiscent of Finarfin and Fëanor. Elrond watched with a detached sense of admiration as Erestor took down orcs with a fearlessness and skill that rivalled even Glorfindel’s. Through a gap in the ring of orcs, Elrond rode to Erestor’s side. Together, back to back, they went through the motions of the ancient dance of death, swirling, thrusting, parrying, until not a single enemy breathed. 

“We ride in formation!” Elrond bellowed to his captains, before him he could see the walls of Eregion.

All that separated them was almost two hundred orcs, their ugly faces set with determination. Erestor dismounted and ran over to the fallen elf and closed the open, unseeing eyes, muttering a prayer as he did. Elrond watched passively. Death was something he had seen from an early age and it did not affect him anymore. 

Erestor vaulted onto his mount and rode with Elrond, his orc-blood stained sword raised in defiance. As the orcs launched their charge, Elrond exhorted his men, “For the King!”

“FOR THE KING!” the elves shouted as one and they plunged into battle. 

The familiar battle fury heated Elrond’s visage as he mercilessly slaughtered the orcs that blocked them from the barred gates of Eregion. From the high walls, elvish arrows cascaded in a flurry as the troops within the city aided Elrond’s host. But an hour later, the odds had not improved. The endurance of the elvish ancestors had passed onto the orcs and they fought untiringly. Elrond knew he should get his troops inside before dark. The outriders had news of a bigger orc host from Mordor approaching even as they fought. The elves needed a new idea to change the odds.

Erestor shouted to Elrond, “I’ll get the gates cleared! You keep them engaged here!”

“How many men?” Elrond asked. It was a good idea. 

“Forty,” Erestor calculated, “Those who are not afraid to get sprayed by orc blood.”

Elrond grimaced, close combat with orcs was something as Thranduil often commented, the fastidious Noldor of Lindon avoided. They preferred long bows and horses. But still, Elrond watched the sun droop lower towards the horizon, they were running out of time. The horses were tired after the long, hard ride and the riders were not much better off.

Erestor took forty swordsmen with him and slowly circled around the orc host. Elrond intensified the attack on his side. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Erestor swing his sword through the air until it met the neck of an orc. Blood lust maddened Elrond again as he led his elves further into the orc ranks shouting, “For Elbereth!”

Half an hour of exhausting fighting later, Erestor and his group had reached the gates, though more than ten had fallen in the siege. Most of the elves and their horses had sustained injuries. They stood defensively before the gates keeping the orcs at a distance. Elrond sighed in relief as the gates opened inwardly and a fresh troop led by none other than Glorfindel rode out of the city to aid them in dispatching the rest of the goblin army. 

 

“What were you thinking? YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED!” Glorfindel roared at Erestor as they slowly made their way from the Healing Halls. 

Elrond was sure that even a Balrog would have second thoughts about facing Glorfindel now. The usually calm tempered warrior was almost unrecognisable as he gestured angrily with a clenched fist at the dozens of wounded soldiers attended to by the healers. 

Erestor said soothingly, “Glor, You know I’m not inclined to suicide. It was the only way then.”

Elrond kept his eyes carefully averted from Glorfindel as he stitched up a nasty deep cut on Erestor’s hand made by an orc scimitar. Glorfindel pushed Elrond aside impatiently and growled, “You have been wounded.”

“An unfortunate aftermath of battling the dark forces of Mordor,” Erestor shrugged. Elrond wondered how he could be so calm with an angry Balrog Slayer around. 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Glorfindel cut him, “How did Gil agree to let you come here?”

Erestor smirked, “He was sleeping off the First Ager. So that left me in charge, Glor.”

“He’ll have our hides when he hears about your heroics today,” Elrond remarked. Gil-Galad’s reaction was likely to be far worse than Glorfindel’s given his customary lack of self-restraint.

“Don’t tell me you agreed to let him come,” Glorfindel scowled at Elrond.

Before Elrond could think of a suitable answer, Erestor intervened in a honeyed voice, “Glor, where can I find Celebrimbor? We need to discuss matters. Another orc host is on its way.”

Having sufficiently distracted Glorfindel, Erestor made good his escape leaving Elrond to deal with a doubly irate Balrog Slayer.

“Count?” Glorfindel asked wearily, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

Elrond shrugged, “Fifteen wounded enough not to be able to hold a weapon, thirty in the Halls of Mandos, five almost there. The men and the horses need a long rest if we are to ride out for battle soon again.”

Glorfindel sighed, “The refugees of the human settlements that the orcs burnt down are headed here as we speak. On their very tails come chasing the host of Mordor burning down everything that stands between Eregion and them. We cannot save the city. But we can try to save the citizens.”

Elrond straightened saying, “We should hold the defences steady until they reach safety of an Elven realm, Lothlórien or Greenwood. Is there any hope of aid from those realms?”

“We cannot expect anything from Amdir. He’s too worried about his borders. I guess he’s right. He’s not a strong King. And the Golden wood has rarely seen peril,” Glorfindel reasoned, “And Greenwood,” he paused wryly, “Oropher has always disliked Celebrimbor for the matter of the rings.”

“But he is honourable,” Elrond said quietly, “And a great King. He will send us aid if we ask for it.”

Glorfindel looked at Elrond curiously, “Since when did you become an admirer of Oropher? The princeling is flexible and I can thus to some extent understand your regard for him, but the father! He is stubborn as an ox! I guess Gil’s nightmares star him regularly.”

Elrond smiled slightly, a picture of the handsome Greenwood King arising unbidden in his mind, he said, “Glorfindel, Orophe is an amazing elf whatever differences of opinion he may have with us. We Noldor bear the doom for kinslayings. But he, he suffers the doom for daring to love.”

“Elrond,” Glorfindel smiled sadly, “Being in love has made you more receptive of others who love truly. But let me tell you, a true love, a true soulmate will not be easily found. It is a torturously long path for any elf to embark on. Most settle on one they like and choose to lead a relatively calm, peaceful and happy life.”

“Will you do that?” Elrond asked Glorfindel challengingly, “I know you are in love with Erestor’s sister. And that she loves you as much. And yet you resist the very idea of a bonding ceremony.”

Glorfindel sighed, “Elrond, she is young. Far too young compared to my age. I’m bitter and tired of Arda. Life here drags on till I can fulfil my vow to you and sail to Aman,” his eyes misted over with a thousand memories each bringing more pain and pleasure than the last, “I cannot force her into a bond where she will not be the first priority in my life though it may be in my heart. If she will receive yet another chance at happiness I want her to choose that person over me.”

“Will you be able to live wholly after that?” Elrond asked shocked, “Will your conscience give up on your love for her?” 

“Who are you to counsel me in love?”Glorfindel smirked, “Untouched are you in matters of this topic.”

“Maybe in body, but not in heart,” Elrond said quietly, “I know what it is to love unrequitedly. To love and lose is what Oropher did. To love and suffer is what Celeborn does. To love and let go is what you wish to do. To love and watch my heart’s keeper love another is what I am content to do. We are all different yet same.”

“The arrogant, rusty old smith,” Erestor muttered under his breath as he joined them on the ramparts. A frown marred his handsome features further made remarkable by an ugly scowl.

“Why has a diplomat, the best diplomat in Arda, lost his calm?” Glorfindel teased.

Erestor graced him with a baleful stare before saying furiously, “He refuses to vacate the city. Says he is capable of defending it even if the Noldor of Lindon feel afraid to tackle Mordor.”

“Nobody has doubted his capability to do so,” Elrond said fairly.

Erestor shot him an incredulous look before saying, “Nobody ‘insane’ has doubted his capability to do so. I don’t presume to know much about his two thousand artisans’ weaponry skills. But I do know that Celebrimbor’s smithy furnaces will not be an insurmountable defence against the orcs!”

“Come, Erestor,” Glorfindel reminded him, “You speak of the one who crafted your wedding ring!”

“Unlike me, Sauron does not fancy wedding rings,” Erestor said scathingly, “The rings he is interested in belong to a different kind.”

“Since you have had no luck persuading him, I suppose we should call for reinforcements,” Glorfindel sobered up, “We are in trouble. We cannot hope to hold the city unless we amass the whole army of Lindon.”

“I had not luck persuading him as of yet,” Erestor corrected him irritably, “That does not mean I will not succeed ever. He will see sense when he sees battle before the gates of his own keep.Elbereth, may it not be too late then.”

“Shall we send word to Greenwood?” Elrond queried worriedly, “We need more soldiers to hold our lines.”

“And what is it to say they are not in a worse plight?” Erestor asked him sighing, “Greenwood the Great has always been alone in its battles. If we are to ask help, it must be of Lothlórien. Amdir has more than sufficient forces and the power of Galadriel’s Ring. He has excellent neighbours in Moria and the river Anduin and Gondor lies to his east. Greenwood will have to fall before he is attacked. To his west are the Misty Mountains. He has nothing to fear, yet he fears.”

“Greenwood will not fall as long as the King and Prince of the Greenwood command their armies,” Glorfindel said confidently, “They are excellent leaders whose men follow them to whatever end. Oropher is too stubborn and proud to be worried by orc invasions.”

“Yes,” Erestor conceded wearily, “That is what I am scared about. Amdir has no qualms about calling for aid. But Oropher and Thranduil would rather die than do so. Before we know of their peril, Green wood would be no more. Sauron knows this and will not hesitate to exploit this weakness as he sees it.”

“Does being the Chief-counsellor mean that you have to be the chief pessimist?” Elrond grinned, “Have faith in Oropher. He’s not scared of Sauron.”

“That is his failing,” Erestor retorted, “He does not fear anything. Fear is what makes us prudent. And that keeps us alive.”

Glorfindel laughed saying, “’Res, you are overwrought from your journey and the subsequent talk with Celebrimbor. Go, take a nap.”

Elrond agreed saying, “Yes, Glorfindel is right. You should rest. That will take the sharpness off your tongue.”

Erestor shot them dark looks before slouching back towards the main keep. But he could not resist a parting shot as he remarked, “Maybe my tongue will be the only weapon that retains its sharpness when Sauron knocks on the gate.” 

________________________________________

* * *

Elrond was exhausted beyond measure. Eregion still stood, barely. Glorfindel and Elrond had ridden out each day with a decreasing host to hold off the orcs until the refugees of Human settlements could reach them. The elves he commanded were drained and battle weary. There were too few healers. Due to lack of medical aid, dozens of elves passed into the care of Mandos. But their deaths served no purpose as the orcs steadily approached Eregion, burning down all resistance in their path. 

Glorfindel had ordered Erestor against riding with the patrols. Elrond had quickly seconded him leaving Erestor no option other than to obey them. He took and sent messages from other realms whenever riders managed to reach the city. 

Amdir had asked atleast six times for the host in Eregion to move to his Woods and make a stand with the Galadhrim. It seemed there had been ‘random warg sighting’ near his borders. Elrond and Glorfindel had been hard put to assuage Erestor after he worked himself into a towering rage on reading that particular missive from Amdir.

From Greenwood fortunately, or as Erestor would say ‘unfortunately’, there had been no missive. None of the riders he had sent thither had returned. Elrond saw this as a sign that Thranduil’s kingdom was faring much better than Eregion. And he could not understand Erestor’s reluctance to ask for Oropher’s aid.

From Lindon, however, there had been a steady inflow of messages. Gil-Galad was being restrained by Círdan with utmost difficulty as the High King sought to join his army in Eregion. He had not taken matters easily when he was informed of his newly bonded mate’s decision to go off to war without him. Elrond and Glorfindel had both received long letters that promised them a taste of what awaited them in Lindon should they survive the battle. And Glorfindel was heard to remark after reading through a particularly colourful paragraph that he preferred to have a sojourn in Lórien before returning to face the King’s wrath. Elrond decided that he too could profit from a vacation. His cousin would take years to be appeased and he was going to leave Erestor to manage the wrath.

Erestor, however, did not fear Gil’s anger and thoroughly relished his time in the city remarking to Elrond and Glorfindel about how thick headed they both were. It was truly frightening how he enjoyed managing an entire city single handedly as Celebrimbor had long left the affairs in his hands. The ancient elf spent most of his time reading through lore as if hunting for a long lost deeply hidden clue that would save his land. Appeals by Erestor to leave for Lórien had no effect on him.

Elrond sighed as he tossed about in his bed. Celebrimbor had asked Glorfindel to stay with the men in the barracks. So the dinner that night had been a silent one. At the Ring crafter’s table, there were only a few of his counsellors, Erestor and Elrond. Erestor had been called away half way through the meal by a messenger’s arrival. That had left Elrond to appease the anxious counsellors who had no clue about the futility of continuing to defend the city. He had been relieved beyond measure when the meal finally ended and hastily retired to his bed. 

They would ride out tomorrow again with the dwindling number of troops and sacrifice more elves for just holding off the retreat that was the only solution. Thinking of the countless lives lost made Elrond’s mind churl. If only Celebrimbor agreed to leave. But a part of Elrond’s mind told him that as the founder of the city, Celebrimbor would die with it. Which left the matter of hundreds of women and children in the city. Elrond sat up in his bed massaging his weary temples. He would not find sleep tonight unless he fixed himself a sleeping potion. As he bustled about with the ingredients, a sharp knock sounded on his door. 

Glad of the company, Elrond quickly opened it, finding himself face to face with an anxious looking Erestor.

“Elrond,” Erestor said worriedly, “the orc host is two days’ ride away according to our outriders. Celebrimbor has refused to reconsider. We must do what we can for the rest, buy them time enough to escape.”

Elrond nodded numbly, and asked, “What of the refugees from Human settlements?”

“They come. They will reach us before tomorrow noon. We need to be prepared for a siege,” Erestor said decisively.

“Our army is not at its best, Erestor,” Elrond said pensively, “And Glorfindel too has been uneasy. I think he is reminded of the siege of Gondolin. The troops are easily demoralized. And so am I. I see no hope here. And how do I lead my elves into battle knowing that each time the number dwindles?”

Erestor looked at him one long moment before saying softly, “Then I shall hope for us both. Eregion shall be no Gondolin. We will ride together, .”

Elrond stared at him stupidly before he recovered his composure and said quietly, “Glorfindel will not be happy if you ride to battle.”

“As much as I love Glorfindel, I don’t consider my life’s aim to keep him happy,” Erestor smirked, “And,” his sharp eyes caught sight of the half prepared sleeping potion on Elrond’s bed side table, “I would be glad if you gave me something for sleep. It has been evading me for days.”

Elrond smiled and said, “That makes the two of us then, , Come, be seated. It will take awhile.”

Erestor seated himself before the fire and they started talking in a desultory fashion as Elrond mixed up the ingredients. Half an hour later when a pleasant silence had fallen, Elrond, who had been watching the kettle said quietly, “It is almost done.”

There was no answer. Elrond turned back to find Erestor hunched up in the chair, his eyes closed in fatigue. As elves rarely slept with their eyes closed, Elrond could easily understand the chief counsellor’s state of exhaustion. Smiling, he took the kettle off the fire and walked over to the sleeping elf. Erestor’s face seemed relaxed and innocent in reverie. His hair had come loose out of the braids and messily covered his face. Elrond sighed and quietly carried him to the bed. He was amazed to find the slender form heavier than he expected. He silently snuffed out the candles in the room and arranged the blankets over the sleeping form of Erestor. Then he settled himself against the bed pole deciding to watch over Erestor that night. 

Elrond remained where he was till the grey rays of dawn permeated the thick curtains. Erestor woke quietly and his eyes roved about the unfamiliar setting till they settled on Elrond. The black eyes suddenly filled with guilt as Erestor sat up in bed saying, “I fell asleep on you yesterday!”

“You were fatigued, . You did not even need the potion,” Elrond smiled, “And Maer Aur.”

“I kept you from your rest,” Erestor said sadly, “You could have just woken me up and sent me to my rooms. I stole your time, rest and bed.”

“You needed the rest more than I, . I don’t mind as I wasn’t sleepy in the first place,” Elrond assured the dubious looking Erestor.

Elrond made his way to the barracks after seizing hold of a loaf of bread from the kitchens. Erestor had left for Celebrimbor’s study wearing a harried look. They had received word that the refuges from Human settlements had arrived.

“Elrond!,” Glorfindel called him, “Come here.”

The reborn Balrog Slayer was atop a rampart and staring pensively across the plains. Elrond jogged up the stairs and joined him. When he looked out at the plains he could see a lone dark spot moving fast at a distance of nearly twenty miles away. 

“A warg!,” Elrond murmured, “An outrider, then the host approaches.”

“The main host will be there before our gates before tomorrow dawn,” Glorfindel said in a subdued tone, “It is lost.”

“ , let us not talk of losses before we meet them in battle. The Human settlementsians have arrived and are bring escorted into the city as we speak. Even if Eregion has no hope, we must take the innocents into safety even if we perish doing that,” Elrond said determined.

“Thus it was in the siege and eventual fall of Gondolin. It is ironic how my present life seem to end the same way as my past life,” Glorfindel said bitterly in a rare display of vulnerabiltity.

Elrond was about to say something reassuring when the shrill cry of a bird sounded from above them. He looked up curiously. It was a lone hunting falcon. It swooped down onto the rampart and stared wisely at Elrond.

“A friend of yours?” Glorfindel asked wryly.

Elrond ignored the sarcasm. It was well known through out Lindon that Elrond had no affinity with any creature other than horses. So wondering why this bird should act out of the ordinary, Elrond watched the bird more closely. A note was attached to its left leg. 

Elrond said to Glorfindel, “Does Gil feel like sending bird messengers when he gets very angry?”

Glorfindel shrugged, “Its your cousin you are asking about. He shares your aversion for creatures like these. I have never seen him successfully training even a hunting dog far less an intelligent creature like this falcon. Take the letter, it might be from Galdor. He keeps some messenger birds though I had no idea he owned one so magnificent.”

Elrond obeyed Glorfindel’s command and held out his arm nervously for the falcon which came with an alacrity that surprised him. No other bird had ever taken to him so. He gently pried off the scroll from its leg and set the bird back on its perch at the rampart walls. 

Glorfindel whistled, “The royal seal of Greenwood the Great. Finally, a message. Erestor will be pleased.”

“For?” Erestor’s disgruntled voice came from behind them, “I am certainly not very pleased about the two of you watching the plains like sentries while I handle the refugees, the messengers, the soldiers and Celebrimbor all at once.”

Elrond unscrolled the parchment saying, “A message from Greenwood,” A familiar scent of pine and fresh dew assailed him, “From our ernil.”

“Read it aloud,” Erestor ordered irritably, “Let us see what excuse the idiot has for not sending back any of the six riders I sent thither.” But Elrond could detect a slight undertone of worry and concern for Thranduil colour Erestor’s irritable tone. 

Glorfindel murmured, “Yes, Elrond, read it before Erestor bursts with anxiety over his best friend and teacher in the finer arts of seduction.”

Erestor scowled but remained silent as Elrond started reading, “I hold a certain Peredhel responsible if my falcon does not return to me,” he stopped in astonishment before staring at Glorfindel.

“And?” Glorfindel asked impatiently.

“Nothing else. Just one sentence,” Elrond waved the paper before Glorfindel’s disbelieving eyes.

“I have always said that the Sindar are partly insane,” Glorfindel said wryly.

Elrond would have defended his friend, but even he had to admit Thranduil was not in a right mental state! 

Erestor took the scroll from Elrond’s unresisting hands and observed, “Vintage Thranduil. Short, brief and precise. We cannot expect aid from Oropher’s realm. He is probably finding it hard to hold his own border perimeters.”

“Is that why Thranduil wants the falcon back?” Glorfindel asked innocently, “To fight the orcs?”

Erestor spared him a ‘What do I do with these kind of morons?’ look before gathering up his robes and sprinting down the stairs. A minute later, they saw him sending a rider with a scroll to the west, to Lindon.

Glorfindel remarked, “I suppose that explains why he is the chief counsellor and we are not and Valar be praised for that. I will probably grow bald trying to decipher stuff from letters like these!”

Elrond looked at the falcon still staring sombrely at them, “Should I send him back now?”

“I suppose so, ,” Glorfindel drawled, “Lest you want an angry son of Oropher hunting for your skin. But, wait till you can ask Erestor himself. An angry Erestor is an immediate cause of concern than an angry Thranduil.”

 

Green wood the Great :

Thranduil Oropherion rode his stallion into the keep of Oropher’s fortress. There was a cold grimness in his usually twinkling jade-green eyes. His tunic and leggings were spattered with blood and dirt and his beautifully crafted quiver was empty. He dismounted with a feline beauty from his horse and nodded to his stable boy who led the horse away. He stretched himself before turning to view the rest of the elves who had followed him. A shadow flickered in his eyes briefly as he saw the wounded and dead being carried in to the Healing Halls. But he composed his features into its customary fearlessness and walked forth to hold counsel with his captains.

Through the window in his study, Oropher watched his son sadly. A mixture of pride and fear crossed his handsome features. 

“My Lord?” a low voice reminded him that he was not alone. 

“Yes, Thalion?” he sighed not bothering to hide his emotions. Thalion, his healer and fellow warrior was one of the few he trusted with his life and with his son’s life.

“The Prince is a fine warrior and our best leader. We need him on the field where the fight is,” Thalion reminded him quietly, “He knows this and will not stay away from his duty even if you commanded him so.”

Oropher watched the handsome figure in his courtyard once again and said bitterly, “Sometimes I regret that we taught him to honour duty above all else. I have no idea how I endure each time he rides out to meet the Mordor threat.”

“Oropher,” Thalion approached the window and looked out at the Prince who was now checking the next patrol regiment, “Even if we had not taught him duty, he would not have acted otherwise. He is your son.”

“My son, my anchor, my hope,” Oropher said with infinite sadness, “For him I live.”

Thalion turned to look at his Lord and friend and said softly, “It was not always like this, Oropher. Once you lived like an elf, not like a ghost. He loves you and will do anything to see the shadow in your soul lessened. How many times has he asked you to give love a chance again? Atleast for comfort’s sake?”

Oropher smiled, “ , has he sent you to aid his cause? I loved once and though our time was short, I have never regretted that love though I regret the consequences deeply. I cannot love again, Thalion, not that way. And I don’t regret it. Though sometimes I find myself wishing she had taken the child to Valinor. Maybe then she would be still happy and with her family. And my son too, the innocence would have never left his eyes. His hands would not be tainted so by blood. And I would know he was happy.”

Thalion sighed sombrely, Oropher had always blamed himself for not letting Thranduil go with Vanima. Maybe the King was right, if she had taken the babe, she might not have lost hope and faded. But Oropher would have reached Mandos’ Halls. He frowned, Oropher rarely, if ever, spoke of the past. Something was troubling him.

“What is it, my Lord?” he demanded quietly.

Oropher turned back to the window and watched his son once again, a bittersweet pain etched across his features. 

“Oropher?” Thalion asked again.

“There is a letter bearing Círdan’s seal on my desk, Thalion. Read it and then speak,” Oropher said wearily. For a moment he looked as lost and vulnerable as he had the day Ingwë’s host had sailed from the Havens.

Thalion complied and unscrolled the parchment. It was written in Quenya, in a hand he recognized not as Círdan’s. He raised his eyebrows. Not even the Noldor used the Ancient Tongue these days.

“To The King of Greenwood the Great,

We have received news regularly from Círdan concerning you and your son, my ill-fated grand-daughter’s son. Though my son, Vanima’s father, has never forgiven you for the grief you wrecked in our family, I have surrendered my anger. He may have lost his daughter, but you have lost more and your innocent son has lost even more. They say he is the pride of the elves, and his father’s son. I am heartened, to know that, despite everything, you did not hate the child for the grief he unwittingly caused you. Círdan tells me that he is the finest warrior of your kingdom and so much more. He said you love him so and fear for him above all else. Arda’s a bitter place. If you wish, you may send him to me across the sea, I will do all I can to make sure he never knows grief. I know your time to sail will not come anytime soon. Think on my words and May Valar forgive us all,

Ingwë, Lord and King of Aman.”

Oropher said quietly, “He is right. I love my son. And I cannot bear to see him become weary and grieving. It will kill me outright. I am going to send him to his mother’s home.”

Thalion stood stunned and started to retort, but Oropher shook his head, “No, Thalion, I have decided.”

“What have you decided, Ada?” Thranduil asked teasingly as he entered the room and watched his father’s face become softer as they fell upon him. 

“I see you have not seen it unfit to bring orc grime into the King’s study, Seneschal?” Oropher asked in a falsely gruff voice. 

Thalion smiled at Thranduil and left quietly. As the door closed behind them, Oropher opened his arms to his son who ran into the embrace like an elfling. As their arms enfolded each other, Oropher noted with pride that his son was taller than him by an inch. Thranduil was no longer the elfling he used to rock day and night and told stories to. His son was now a fully grown elf, a warrior, a diplomat and would soon be betrothed. He felt a brief pang of jealousy. He would have to share his son after the marriage. Then he sighed, he would lose his son soon.

“Ada?” Thranduil stepped out from the embrace frowning worriedly, “You have lost weight and you seem as if you have not rested for days.”

Oropher smiled, “The same can be said of you, ion. Your bones are out.”

“I was on the field, Ada,” Thranduil retorted, “I had a reason. What of you?”

“I had a reason too,” Oropher argued, “I was worried about all of our warriors out there. And not to mention the fact that it has been raining ravens here which come bearing Amdir’s messages. He wants aid.”

“Shoot the ravens,” Thranduil said darkly, “The Lórien army is not even bothering to secure the elf-paths. I have put the best warriors there. If Erestor and Celebrimbor retreat from Eregion, the paths must hold.”

“See to our southern borders, my son, they are weak,” Oropher said seriously, “Maybe I should take charge there while you secure the paths.”

Thranduil said sharply, “You are remaining here, Ada! I will not have you risking your life there at the borders! The only consolation I had was that you were not in the battle.”

Oropher raised his eyebrows good-humouredly, “Isn’t overprotection supposed to be a parental instinct, my son?”

Thranduil muttered glowering, “Sometimes you act like an elfling without thought,” his face became more serious as he said, “I cannot lose you, Ada. Even the thought scares me so.”

Oropher sighed as Ingwë’s words came unbidden to his thoughts once more. He poured out wine for his son and himself and ushered his famished looking son to the dining table.

“Ada?” Thranduil had not touched the food and was now staring concernedly at Oropher again, “You should tell me whatever bothers you now so much. There will be no peace for either of us until you do so.”

And there shall be no peace afterwards, Oropher mused grimly. 

“Ada?” Thranduil’s voice was gentle.

Oropher took a deep breath and explained, “I am sending you to Aman, my son. Your grandfather and King Ingwë want you there. You will leave for the Havens as soon the roads are safe.”

Thranduil said scathingly, “You were never good at joking, Ada. If you want me to laugh, just say so.”

Oropher watched the golden hair of his son shine blindingly in the dark room and said softly, “I am never good at joking, Thranduil, that is why I never joke.”

The expression of shock, disbelief, betrayal and white hot pain that suffused his son’s features made him lower his eyes in grief. He had never hurt his son all these centuries. Now, he had betrayed his son, and would see it done.

“Ada?” it was not his proud son’s voice, it was the voice of the scared elfling, whom he had soothed after nightmares, all those years ago. It broke Oropher to hear that voice of helplessness.

“Ada, how have I angered you so that you wish to send me away?” the voice asked him, “Why have I lost your love?”

Oropher said softly, “My love for you is what makes me do this. I will not see you grieve and lose your happiness in this harsh world. Remain whole and safe in Valinor, and I shall be at peace.”

In an instant, Thranduil was kneeling before him, clasping their hands together. He asked quietly, “How will I be whole when I leave behind you, Ada? Do you wish me to fade even as Naneth did?”

Oropher was shocked by the depth of emotion he saw in his son’s green eyes, that so mirrored his own. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he realized he would never be able to win this argument with his son. A vague feeling of loss and grief pervaded his senses. He wept openly as he realized his son would know sorrow, hate and defeat.

“Ada?” Thranduil’s arms enfolded him securely, “I will never leave you. We need not discuss this if it upsets you so.” 

Oropher rested his head on his son’s shoulder and sobbed silently. He begged the Valar to strengthen his son for the trials that he knew Thranduil would face.

________________________________________

* * *

Amdir looked out at the mallorn trees from his flet. His chief counsellor, counsellors and the marchwarden of the Golden wood stood behind him quietly. 

“Amdir,” Celeborn’s voice was sharp, “I see no honour in sitting safely here while Oropher sheds his blood to secure the paths!”

“My Lord Celeborn, you do not understand the King’s burden,” Haldir spoke menacingly.

Celeborn retorted, “Is the King’s burden to let another King sacrifice his elves for the sake of common safety? Marchwarden, I know not how you could retreat when the orcs arrived on the Elf paths leaving our Green wood kin to fend for themselves! But enough of that, Green wood is in grave peril. If you would not think of them, think atleast of your people, Amdir! If Oropher falls, then Lórien stands alone. And what shall we do then?”

Amdir shrugged uneasily, “Oropher will not fall, Celeborn. We cannot risk our warriors in war, not when we are alone. I had expected Elrond’s host to reinforce Lórien. But they are determined to continue their folly in Eregion. I cannot now spare our strength to go and aid Oropher, not when he has not even asked for it.”

Celeborn snorted, “Amdir, when have you ever known Oropher to ask for aid?”

Amdir did not reply. Celeborn strode out of the flet fuming inwardly. Haldir’s arrogant smirk had not eased his temper. But as the cool breeze caressed his face, he felt concern for Oropher, his cousin, shadow all indigence and anger at Amdir. He knew Oropher must be in peril. What could he do to aid him? Tiredly, he rested his head against a tree bole.

“Ada?” Celebrían’s voice roused him out of his brooding.

“Yes, ‘Bria? Why are you not with your mother?” Celeborn asked wearily.

“Ada,” Celebrían’s voice was worried, “Will Oropher and cousin Thranduil be all right? I mean, all this fighting is happening the most in their homeland, isn’t it? Naneth said they need more warriors. Will the King send our elves? Anoriel was most worried and she is now with Naneth seeking counsel and comfort.”

Celeborn sighed, his wife had probably looked to the cursed mirror and seen something that worried her. That explained why she had sent their child out to seek him, something she could not do herself these days. He made up his mind. If Amdir would not aid Oropher, he, Celeborn would ride to join his cousin.

“Naneth said the roads are safe and that your mare will be turned out in an half-hour. She also said that you are to not waste time,” Celebrían said quietly, watching her beloved father’s anguished face turn determined, “Will you go to them, Adar?”

“They are our kin, ‘Bria,” Celeborn said in an equally quiet tone, “Not in good conscience can we turn our backs on them.”

 

Oropher watched his son mount his stallion again. As he tried to paste a smile onto his unwilling face, Thranduil stooped down and gathered Oropher’s right hand in his own ones.

Keeping eye contact with his father, he kissed the signet ring saying softly, “I will return to you, Ada, never doubt that ever.”

Oropher smiled and nodded mutely. His heart cried out as he watched his only son turn into a cold, heartless warrior who would kill to protect his land. The innocence was already lost.

 

Elrond watched Erestor and Glorfindel bicker. 

“YOU ARE NOT COMING,” Glorfindel was yelling.

“Really, Glor, one would have never thought you capable of such drama,” Erestor said pleasantly, fastening the last links of his armor.

Elrond interceded as Glorfindel glowered at him, “Erestor, Lord Celebrimbor may have need of you.”

Erestor raised his eyebrow in a manner that reminded Elrond of Maedhros and said coolly, “The only person whom I am bound to obey is my King, who is not here. I ride with you, with the host of Lindon,” he bowed politely to them both before walking with his customary sedate pace towards the stables.

 

Galadriel watched her husband ride out of Lórien. His handsome face was determined and concerned. She sighed, how he reminded her of the proud Prince of Doriath who had wooed her so well. He had not changed. She had changed. Which explained why he sought out others for his pleasures. She shook her head firmly, it would not do to think of that now.

But she could not suppress a sob as she thought of her husband’s comfort seeking. Each night she would watch him in the mirror and cry broken-heartedly. For she loved him still. But she was not able to do her duty by him, the ring was draining her, the mirror was draining her, the gift of foresight was draining her. She had aged, but he had not. She breathed a silent prayer to the Valar to watch over her husband.

 

Gil-Galad fretted about in his study as he awaited the latest rider from Eregion. This was not how he had planned his wedding week to be. He sighed, he had wanted an idyllic fortnight with Erestor, to never get up from his bed. Thinking of Erestor made him grow warmer. Who would have thought that his serious Chief-Counsellor could be so talented in the arts of love? He shuddered pleasantly as he thought of their bonding night. He had been half inclined not to listen to Elrond and leave the room quickly to meet Galadriel. But Erestor, ah well, Erestor had seduced him so thoroughly and had been too confident for an untouched, inexperienced lover. The more he thought about that night, the more sure he was of Thranduil’s involvement. Erestor had a deep friendship with that Princeling. And so had Elrond. Gil-Galad could not for the life of him understand what his bonded mate and cousin saw in Oropher’s son. As far as he had noticed, Thranduil was a faithful copy of his arrogant, fearless father. 

“My Lord,” an elf approached bearing three scrolls.

Gil-Galad took the parchment and bade him leave. Hastily, he opened the first one, it bore Amdir’s seal. He sighed, if the King of Lórien made yet another plea for aid, he would personally go there and have a few choice words with him.

“To The High King,

My Kingdom can defend itself as long as Oropher bears the brunt of the onslaught in Greenwood. But if he falls, then Lórien stands alone. By our alliances, I call upon Lindon to rise to the aid of my country.

Amdir.”

Gil-Galad suppressed a snort, Oropher would break off all alliances with Amdir if he ever read this letter. Personally, he could not comprehend why Amdir was so heartlessly letting Oropher bear the attack alone. Granted, that Oropher was a convicted Noldor hater. But then Amdir belonged to the same category. He shook his head and proceeded to the next scroll. His face brightened as he saw the familiar handwriting of his bonded mate.

“To The High King of the Noldor,

I have reasons to fear that Green wood needs our aid. Celebrimbor refuses yet to desert Eregion. So we cannot in good conscience abandon the city and its innocents and ride to aid Oropher. I beg you to put aside past differences with the Sindar and send out a host to their aid. ( As soon as this war ends, I wish to return to your side and well, not leave on any diplomatic or military errand for an year!)

Respect, regards and love,  
Your humble Chief counsellor.

(I did not take out the braids you put in my hair yet. But Glorfindel insists I adopt a ‘less intricate decoration’ for the battlefield. I shall not.)”

Gil-Galad lifted the parchment to his nostrils and left the familiar scent of fresh earth and ink waft into his nose. He had no intentions of sending a host to Oropher. An unasked for aid would only make matters worse between them. Taking a deep breath, he opened the third scroll, which, curiously was addressed to his counsellor. 

“ ,  
I have always been frank, so I say simply, we need aid. Convince your tawny lion to send out your army. I sent a message to Elrond too, but I think he is yet in Eregion. The paths are heavily under attack. They are burning the forest. Amdir has secured his realm and left us to deal with all else. We cannot hope to hold the southern edges, the river, the passes in the mountains, the forest road and our realm all at once. Ada is worried, but mercifully remains unaware of the entire situation.   
Stay safe,  
Thranduil.”

Gil-Galad automatically called for Lord Círdan and said briskly, “Prepare our entire host leaving out only the patrols. You must lead the army to Greenwood.”

“Oropher,” Círdan began.

“He will not be in charge at the field. The Princeling is the one riding the war,” Gil-Galad said tersely, “We cannot let our follies stand in the way of saving our allies. Enough doom rests upon us as it is.”

 

Elrond and Glorfindel led out the depleted host of Eregion into battle. The orc host sneered at the reduced numbers. The elves were soon joined by the Númenorians under Prince Aldor. They combined forces and the battle began.

“Kill them all!” Glorfindel exhorted his troops, as he raised his sword in defiance, “FOR ELBERETH! FOR VALINOR! FOR THE FIRST BORN!”

Soon they were fighting with the first line of the enemy host. Elrond soon lost sight of Erestor and Glorfindel as he dodged, parried, thrusted and killed one orc after another. Around him elvish longbows sang true as arrows brought down orcs and wargs alike with deathly precision. ‘Atleast something good came out of Thranduil’s stay in Lindon’, Elrond mused as he grimly noted the improved archery skills of his men.

A few hours later, Elrond’s armour was blood splattered and broken, his strokes less forceful and his body bruised and wounded. His mare was also tiring. Clearly his half-human heritage was making an unwelcome appearance. Shaking himself to dispel his weariness, he concentrate on the battle. That was when a shadow fell on him and a high pitched shriek pierced his ears. 

“NAZGUL!,” the elves around him said panickedly, “Archers!”

A huge black serpent like bird landed before Elrond, who had lost all sense of surroundings. Around him, orcs and elves were smashed alike to death by the ugly creature. Elrond’s mare tried to bolt, but he held it steady.

“Peredhel,” a high, sneering voice issued from a black cloaked figure atop the beast, “Why do you tarry among elves, half-blood?” Elrond felt a black envelope filling his mind, throwing out all light and hope. Life was empty. He just had to let go into the void. He fell from his mare. Hands caught him before he reached the ground, however. He frowned. He had enough, he wanted escape from all of this. He was dimly aware of being placed on his mount again.

“Stand aside, for I shall show no mercy to those who stand between me and my victim,” the voice warned.

“Nor shall I,” a cool voice spoke quietly. 

Elrond heard the twang of a hundred bows and the high pitched wail of the Nazgul’s mount. He could hear Glorfindel’s voice raised high in defiance. He was gently lifted and placed before someone on another mount. The voice that had defied the Wraith said soothingly, “It is all fine, Elrond, you are safe.”

 

Elrond drifted off into the darkness smiling. It was so easy to let go of everything. A warm essence crept into his heart suffusing him with light, joy and hope. The darkness devouring his soul fought wildly. But the warmth refused to leave.

“What?” Elrond grumbled.

“Fight it, , Do not give in,” the warmth exhorted him.

“’Restor?” Elrond mumbled.

“Yes, Elrond. Come back to us. Do not give in,” the warmth pleaded.

“Anything for you, my love. Melin lle,” Elrond replied and his eyes focussed sharply as a part of his subconscious realized what he had spoken. Automatically, he blocked Erestor out of his thoughts and gasped, “You should not have done that! You risked your life, you could have been pulled into the void with me.”

“It was worth it,” Erestor said quietly, “I was so scared I would lose you.”

They were still riding Erestor’s stallion and seemed to miles away from the battle. Elrond leaned against Erestor surreptiously relishing the warmth of the other body. Warmth?

He turned around and demanded, “ Where is your armour?” It was then that he realized that their lips were scant inches apart. He turned abruptly reining in his unruly impulses.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to get another mail suit,” Erestor said easily, “It broke under the Nazgul blade.”

Elrond gasped as he realized its full implications, “The wound,” he demanded anxiously, “We should see to it now.”

“Really Elrond!” Erestor said indignantly, “I’m not a hero like Glorfindel to hide my wounds! Or in the first place, to get wounded! I slipped out of the armor when I saw the blow land, luckily the mail suit was too large for me.”

“Still, I insist on a check,” Elrond said dubiously as he noted the other elf’s pallor in the moonlight, “Where are we riding for? Eregion does not lie this way!” he added as he noted the unfamiliar surround.

“We are riding for Eregion,” Erestor said in a testily.

“I have never ridden this way before,” Elrond said doubtfully, “Are you clear-”

“Yes, indeed!” Erestor said huffily, “I have paid sufficient attention to my geography classes! Now sit quiet and let me sing you to sleep, Lord Herald, unless you want to wear my patience thin by more unnecessary queries!”

Soon Elrond was transported back to his childhood when Maglor would sing two unhappy elflings to sleep. Erestor’s voice had the same rich, deep, melodious tenor moving Elrond into dreams of his days with his foster father, when he had felt safe despite the constant nomadic travels and attacks.

Elrond woke only when they were in the keep of Eregion and Celebrimbor’s loud voice broke in his reverie, “What happened to him?”

“Nazguls, my Lord,” Erestor said tersely, “We were separated from the main flanks.”

“Let me send for the healers to attend to him,” Celebrimbor said uneasily.

Elrond focussed his eyes wearily and said firmly, “No, My Lord, I’m all right. Just have someone show me to a bed. I am tired, that is all.”

Celebrmbor nodded and a young elf came to take Ebony’s reins from Erestor. Elrond managed to jump down though with less than his customary grace and watched Erestor dismount stiffly suppressing a wince.

As the door closed behind them, Elrond rounded on Erestor and demanded, “I know you are hiding a wound, ,” he crossed his arms seeing Erestor’s too innocent expression, “I am a healer as well as a warrior!”

Erestor mumbled, “Sharp eyes.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow. 

Erestor said reluctantly, “On the left thigh, a warg bite. It has stopped bleeding. I think it will heal soon.”

“I shall decide that,” Elrond washed his hands in the basin before spreading his medical supplies on the bed neatly.

Erestor shrugged as he removed his blood splattered tunic and then threw on a light nightshirt before removing his bloodied leggings. An ugly, dark clotted smudge of blood spoiled the otherwise marble pale flesh on his thigh. 

“Lie down,” Elrond said soothingly. As Erestor complied, Elrond started to clean and bind the wound, trying to make his touches as brief and methodical as possible. Not for the first time, he envied his blessed cousin.

“Both of us should get some sleep tonight,” Erestor said tiredly, rolling over to an end of the small cot and patting the empty area.

Elrond would not have agreed to share a cot with his desire on an usual day, but his half human nature left him nodding exhaustedly and he plopped onto the rough mattress wordlessly. 

 

Celebrimbor watched the moon in the clear skies from his study window. The ancient smith’s face was lined with worry. He took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do. Emerging out of his study, he asked an aide, “Bring the Lord Erestor to me immediately.”

 

“Naneth,” Celebrían said anxiously as she watched a single silvery tear trail down her mother’s cheek, “Are you all right? Did you see something in the mirror?”

Galadriel smiled bitterly and said, “All useful things are dangerous, my daughter. Never may you wield one.”

“Anoriel is worried about cousin Thranduil and her kin, Lord Elrond,” Celebrían informed her.

Galadriel nodded, but did not offer any words of comfort as she pondered what she had foreseen.

 

Oropher was walking alone in his gardens when he heard the hooves of a single mount. Frowning, he turned back as the rider came into view. Dishevelled, dirty and blood spattered, an elf dismounted and rushed towards him. Oropher’s heart lightened as he saw the dancing blue eyes and silver hair of his cousin.

“Celeborn,” he said simply, letting himself be embraced and he rested his head on the Lórien Lord’s shoulder, “Thank you for coming.”

“Cousin, I could never stay away if my heart tells you are in peril,” Celebron sighed as he tightened his embrace, “What happened to you? It is no only the threat of Sauron that despairs you?”

Oropher saw no reason for pretending courage before his cousin and said quietly, “Ingwë has forgiven me and asks for my son to be sent to Valinor. Thranduil refused to go, Celeborn, he will become world weary like me, I cannot have that.”

Celeborn sighed, “The will of the Valar cannot be thwarted, cousin. I too am world weary. If it was not for the forest, I would have taken a ship long ago.”

“Your wife cannot accompany you,” Oropher stated bluntly, “She had the doom upon her yet. Will you be able to leave her?”

Celebron smiled bitterly, “She would not care either way.”

 

In her mirror Galadriel watched sorrowfully. 

________________________________________

* * *

“My Lord Elrond,” an archer hailed, “A group of riders come behind us all haste bearing the King’s banner.”

Elrond sighed relieved, “It must be Lord Erestor, , escort them hither! He certainly took his time!”

The archer grinned and rode away. Elrond relaxed for the first time since they had left Eregion. Leading the refuges into the wild had been an all-consuming task. But he had been extremely worried about Erestor and to some extent about Glorfindel. But Erestor had really caused him much anxiety. The counsellor had promised to join Elrond in two hours. But even after a night’s slow passage, Erestor had not joined them. Elrond was worried that the counsellor had run off to join Glorfindel in the battle.

Elrond smiled as the group of riders came nearer. 

“My Lord!” a rider shouted, “Come here!”

Elrond looked at the long line of rag tagged refugees before him and sighed, he would be more than glad to shift responsibility of this to Erestor and go back to the patrols. He asked one of the few mounted guards with him to take charge and rode away to meet the others. Maybe Celebrimbor had been finally convinced to leave the city. No, Elrond’s inner voice said firmly, not even Erestor’s velvet tongue could sway the smith’s decision to perish with his city.

Elrond felt a pang of fear as he neared the small group. Their mien was sombre. As he saw them clearly, the realization set in : Erestor was not there. 

He rasped, “Where’s the Chief Counsellor?”

“My Lord Elrond,” a rider spoke up uneasily, “He bade us go when the gates fell. He was to have followed with the last of the smiths and possibly the Lord Celebrimbor. But when he had not caught up with us after nearly an hour, we rode back. Eregion was aflame, My Lord.”

Elrond shook his head dumbly. It was not real. It could not be real. Erestor could not have died in the burning city. 

“I am sorry, My Lord,” the elf said hesitantly, “There was nothing we could have done.”

Elrond said in a low voice, “Join the rest. I need privacy now.”

The riders hastily obeyed. Elrond let go of his horse’s reins and buried his face in his hand.

“Is it this then?” A harsh feminine voice asked him, “Will a single loss break your will, Elrond Half-Elven?”

“Galadriel!” Elrond spat disgustedly, “Watching over everyone’s privacy will not lift your doom!”

“That I know, Peredhil,” the voice said solemnly, “Nevertheless condemned am I to watch things I rather would not see. Such as the object of your perverted lust hang on to life twenty miles to your east.” 

Elrond sat up straight in the saddle and whispered, “What did you say?”

“My nephew’s mate is unhorsed and unarmed. He nears death even as you waste your time fantasizing on what could have been,” the voice replied.

Elrond asked doubtfully, “You were never inclined to support me or Erestor before. What has changed your mind? Or is it another plan?”  
The voice laughed, “I bear you no love, Peredhil. And it gives me no great pleasure to bring you these tidings. But I lie not, for what could that serve me?”  
Elrond did not bother replying to that accusation as he turned his horse around and rode into the night. To the east.   
After nearly an hour’s hard riding, he reached a cliff. Spurring his horse on, he rode up to the edge. Before him he saw a reddish orange blur. Fire. Eregion was burning. His mare whinnied excitedly and tossed about her mane as she tried to turn. Elrond smoothed down her mane soothingly, but she refused to obey him and bolted suddenly, catching him unawares. His grip on the reins was loose and he held on to the horse’s mane not to be thrown down.   
“Dance, Stop!” he coaxed soothingly to his disobedient mare.   
It was futile. Resigning himself to her folly, he concentrated on staying in the saddle. She whinnied again. Elrond shook his head irritably. The Valar knew what was going on in his mare’s head right now. Another loud whinny answered her. Elrond looked up. Against the full moon, a solitary black stallion stood still, a slumped form on his back.   
“Ebony!” Elrond murmured disbelievingly, he flicked the reins and this time, his mount obeyed him willingly as she galloped ahead towards the stallion.   
Elrond dismounted and hurried over to the elf on Ebony’s back. He took note of the fact that Erestor’s breathing was still regular, though shallow. Gratefully thanking all the Valar he could think of, Elrond gently lifted Erestor and placed him on the ground. The counsellor’s robes and body was stained by soot and goblin blood. But there were no injuries other than a few burns and bruises. He set to work on them.   
Erestor whispered in a parched voice, “Water”  
Elrond hastily pulled out his water bag and gently lifting Erestor’s head, poured the stale water slowly down the throat.   
After taking a few gulps, Erestor opened his eyes and on finding Elrond hovering about anxiously, he smiled weakly saying, “Ever the saviour.”  
“You gave me quite a scare,” Elrond said in an unsteady voice, “We are lucky that my mare’s taken to your stallion!”  
Erestor clasped Elrond’s hands firmly saying, “Thank you, I thought I would wake up in Mandos’ keep and stay there for eternity.”  
Elrond said gruffly, “Nonsense, I think your common sense is waning. There are no orcs on this road and they will not cross the flaming city. We are safe on these wild lands.”  
Erestor shook his head and covered his face with his hands before saying brokenly, “I set the fire, Elrond, It was my hand that threw the torch into the barn and the stables and the smithies,” he coughed harshly, the smoke he had inhaled clearly impeding his lungs.  
Elrond whispered, “Don’t talk if it is too painful on your lungs. Rest.”  
Erestor shook his head and continued in a barely audible voice, “There will be no rest for me, not after what I did there,” his face darkened, “They had broken through the defence lines, the Wraiths creating havoc. I had already led out everyone or so I assumed. To slow the pursuit, I torched the barns. From there the flames spread to the stables and the keep. By then I was surrounded by orcs,” he took a shallow breath and leaned heavily onto Elrond’s shoulder, “When I fought my way to the courtyard, I heard a raucous cry of a Wraith. Turning back, I saw Celebrimbor and three dozen of his smiths standing surrounded by goblins. They were not even holding weapons. However I tried, I could not reach them. I saw them taken captive. The smiths were pushed into the fire and they burned to death before my very eyes. The stench, the stench of the burning flesh! Celebrimbor was manacled and jeeringly led away by the orcs. I could do nothing for it was not just orcs that outnumbered me, but Wraiths. I was saved only because I had a lit torch yet in my hands and the creatures fear fire,” he wrung his hands despairingly, “I should have atleast killed Celebrimbor. Death would have been a kinder fate to what Sauron will wreak on him.”  
Elrond said nothing, but silently embraced Erestor, who finally gave into his emotions and sobbed defeatedly, “I wish that I were as brave as Glorfindel and as selfless. That I had courageously died at their hands instead of abandoning the rest to their fate as a coward.”  
Elrond said sternly. “That is folly. Celebrimbor’s fate was never in our hands even before the battle had begun. It was destined that he would never abandon the city he built. And if you had not burnt the city, the refuges would have been pursued and slaughtered cruelly. We saved whomever we could and we cannot be held responsible for the rest. Our concern now is to get those whom we lead to safety.”  
Erestor relaxed against him slightly and said, “The enemy will not follow. The army is regrouping, I guess. I suppose having a First Age Hero pays even if we have to endure his gloating. He defied the leader of the Wraiths, the Witch King himself, and the orcs were none too happy for that act, according to what I could decipher from their cursed language. I guess doing that will not exactly raise the morale of Sauron’s armies.”  
They mounted Ebony and Elrond gently coaxed Erestor, who sat before him, to rest against him. They rode to meet the long retreat towards Lothlórien, as Elrond turned one last time, he prayed silently for the famed smith taken prisoner. Then he turned his back on the burning city. 

Eregion was history.

 

Glorfindel woke silently as he always did and sighed wearily. It was dawn. They would have to ride out again. As he pondered the various army concerns, he suddenly realized that he was not alone in the camp cot. A hand rested around his waist holding him tightly. A warm chest and regular, deep breathing. He turned around wildly. And found himself face to face with a peacefully sleeping Aldor. Glorfindel’s features softened as he took in the care worn lines on the young human’s face. Clearly, he was too young to bear the burdens of chieftainship of his clan. Dark, matted hair fell tousled about his face. There was an overpowering scent of grime, blood and sweat. Glorfindel sighed again, though it was pleasing to lie in the arms of the young one and share the body heat, he had to be up and about. He gently pried off the human’s arm and sat up. Dizziness seized him suddenly and he fell back onto the human with a loud thump startling Aldor awake. Glorfindel cursed in Dwarvish.  
“Are you all right?” Aldor eased him gently onto the cot and quickly getting off the mattress, he slipped on his discarded tunic, but not before Glorfindel’s sharp eyes had noticed a bulge in the leggings.  
Glorfindel decided not to rake up the topic, for all he knew, maybe humans had problems with morning erections, so instead he said pleasantly, “Good morning, I am fine indeed.” He hauled himself up again, this time successfully.  
Aldor smiled saying, “I expected a milder reaction when you woke up and found me still in the tent.”  
Glorfindel acknowledged, “It was a shock, however I was more shocked on finding you in my bed and even more so in finding myself in your arms, Aldor.”  
Aldor smiled nervously, “I only meant to soothe your nightmares. I…my intentions were just to leave you after that. But I was too exhausted, I daresay. I am sorry, Lord Glorfindel, I should leave now and leave you to your rest.”  
Glorfindel took note of the human’s flustered features. He was no fool. The young human was attracted to him. In which case, he had a big problem if he did not handle this carefully.  
He cheerily replied, “Yes, but please do stay away from the battle today. You seem genuinely worn out. And for my part, I wish to thank you for the company last night. It is much appreciated and was certainly sorely needed.”   
“You called for ‘Res. I was unsure of--,” Aldor faltered.  
Glorfindel smiled bashfully, “Erestor, It is he who usually keeps me company and sings me to sleep,” he grinned on seeing the human’s astonished expression, “when the nightmares assail my repose. He is more or less like a son or a brother to me, I guess and so I feel free to call him whenever the need arises.”  
Aldor smiled, “Lord Erestor, I can’t picture him singing anyone to sleep! Luckily, you escaped that fate at my hands yesterday. Can’t carry a tune to save my life, I am afraid.”  
“He has a beautiful voice,” Glorfindel said proudly, “it is a pity that he never sings in the public. And you are not alone, I sometimes think that it was my heroic singing endeavour that provoked the Balrog. I am hopeless in arts.”  
Aldor guffawed and said, “I should be going now. Shall I send for your aides? It seems they were frightened yesterday.”  
Glorfindel smirked, “And they were well to do so for I was in a foul temper.”

 

Galadriel watched her daughter chatter with Anoriel. The vision she had concerning Celebrían had been giving her sleepless nights. She had been careful to conceal her thoughts from her husband’s bond. She wanted Celebrían happy and whole. Even if it meant more manipulation. She decided on her course.

“Haldir,” Amdir said worriedly, “I need you to do something for me.”  
The handsome marchwarden bowed.  
“Haldir, I have been thinking of Oropher’s marriage offer. He seems quite adamant with that. And unlike him, so forgiving even when we were in the wrong regarding the wedding day mishap. Why?” Amdir said quietly, looking out at the mallorn trees.  
Haldir said respectfully, “Sire, Oropher is indeed quite eager to seal the engagement. He is known for being possessive about his son. Yet then, how come he is so enthusiastic about an arrangement that shall definitely lessen his ties with his son?”  
Amdir sighed, “It seems they are in love with each other from what my daughter says.”  
Haldir said thoughtfully, “Mayhap she thinks she is in love with him. My Lord Amdir. Remember, she has led a sheltered life in our land under your talans and hence has no idea of love and marriage. The Prince Of Greenwood was the first stranger she met and I fear the enigmatic and mysterious aura that surrounds him has allured her as it has done so many others before.”  
“So,” Amdir said frowning, “You stick to your accusation that he is unfettered in the ways of pleasure?”  
Haldir said firmly, “Unfettered and wild and fickle, My Lord. My brothers can tell you their personal experiences if you want. Age, position, gender, he considers them to be factors of no importance. Rumour mills say that he has slept with almost all of the court at Lindon.”  
“Will he remain faithful to his bonded?” Amdir pondered, “We need to think deeply before we proceed with this, Haldir. I would not have my daughter hurt.”

 

Oropher laughed as he watched his bedridden son flirt shamelessly with the young healer who assisted Thalion.  
“My prince, would it not be more prudent to save your energy for the healing process?” Thalion barked, “She will not be going anywhere. You can say your sweet dialogues as much as she wants then after you are on your own legs.”  
Thranduil said smoothly, “That is what makes you so jealous, Thalion. Let me give you a few basic lessons in the arts of seduction.”  
Thalion spared him a glower before murmuring, “’Tis your stubborn Adar who needs those lessons.”  
Oropher met his son’s jade green eyes, so like his own. Thalion and the young maid had left, he realized, leaving him alone with Thranduil.  
“Ada,” Thranduil began.  
“We are not debating my celibacy again, my son,” Oropher cautioned him, “Do not start with that.”  
“I only wish to see you happy,” Thranduil said quietly.  
“You are my happiness. When you are happy, I am content,” Oropher sat down on the side of the bed and threaded his fingers lovingly through his son’s unkempt, golden hair.  
“Ada, then why do you insist that I should marry to be happy?” Thranduil raised his eyebrows.  
Oropher smiled, “My son, leave your diplomacy lessons for the debating tables. I am hopeless in these word fights. You should marry because you need to have a person to understand you, to care for you, to love you, to cherish you.”  
“I have all of these in you, Adar-nin,” Thranduil said quietly, placing his head in his father’s lap and closing his eyes contentedly, “What can a mate give me that you cannot give?”  
“I take it that the question was rhetorical,” Oropher teased his son, “For I do not think I can warm the Crown Prince’s bed or give him heirs, can I?”  
“I have ample bed partners, Ada. We both know that. I don’t need to marry for that. And heirs, well, I don’t see the burning necessity of the Crown Prince producing heirs when the King is capable of breeding dozens himself,” Thranduil retorted.  
Oropher said playfully, “You are determined to come back to the topic of my celibacy. My son, I would love to break my chastity if it will make you happy. But you have not left any man or women between here and the Havens whom you have not shared a bed with. So how can I bed them?”  
“Well,” Thranduil pondered aloud, “There is always Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Glorfindel.”   
Oropher snorted, “None of them are Sindar, my son and I have a reputation as a Noldor-hater. So I am doomed to remain celibate.”  
Thranduil opened his eyes suddenly, “Cousin Celebrían. She is a worthy women, Ada. I think we shall have a double wedding since you persist on me marrying.”  
Oropher rolled his eyes, “Yes, Thranduil, Galadriel will be mighty pleased about that. Really my son, the girl’s my daughter almost. I happen to have some decency left even after raising such a wild spirit like you!”  
“Oh right!” Thranduil muttered shifting in his father’s lap to make himself more comfortable, the enormous quantity of liquid that the healers had made him drink causing him an urgent need to relieve himself, but he delayed, not wanting to end these carefree moments with his father, “Don’t start that! But I still think Celebrían is a good match for you.”  
Oropher poked his son’s hard erection causing Thranduil to yelp. The Sindar King asked in a falsely-curious tone, “Why, my son, do you grow hard in my presence?”  
“I have a confession to make, Adar-nin, I have a craving, a desire so base that I do not think that you will ever forgive me : I am excited by your proximity,” Thanduil replied in a seductive voice, “Your scent draws me like a moth to the flame,” seeing Oropher’s very poor attempts to conceal a guffaw, he complained, “Adar! I need to get out of this bed to the bathroom or else bring a chamber pot hither! A certain part of my body is bound to malfunction if I don’t relieve myself now! It’s Thalion’s fault. The old dotard made me drink gallons of his foul brew!”

Thranduil smiled as his father gently eased him off his lap and walked to the bathroom to fetch a chamber pot. He had achieved his aim of lifting those lines of care from Oropher’s visage.

* * *

Anoriel watched her father brooding. She frowned. He had been quite ill tempered after his meeting with Galadriel. What had the lady told him to upset him so? With the full confidence of a child spoilt by a parent’s indulgence, she walked to him and kissed his cheek chastely. He did not acknowledge her.

“Ada?” she asked worried.

“Anoriel, I have been thinking. Answer me frankly. Do you like the Prince?” he asked seriously.

Anoriel blushed before mumbling almost inaudibly, “I think so, Adar. I like him, his character, his valour, his chivalry, his gracefulness, his company. I think him the most beautiful elf I have ever seen. And more than that, I feel a flutter in my stomach whenever I see him.”

Amdir sighed, “It is cruel on my side, but , do you know of the stories concerning him?”

Anoriel asked curiously, “What stories, Adar? I only know what you and Lord Celebron and Lord Elrond told me. I heard nothing else. All my impressions of the Prince are formed on these views and the short while I spent in his company at Lindon.”

Amdir nodded and walked further into the woods, leaving her alone. Shrugging, she put down her father’s stress to the war and made her way to her brother’s flet for Amroth had arrived that morning. He would return to the borders only after winter. Until then the more experienced Haldir would assume charge of the patrols.

“Amroth!,” she exclaimed joyously as she was swept into a pair of strong arms.

“Anoriel!” Amroth laughed as he twirled her about once making her squeal. He put her down and ran an eye over her to make sure she was all right. It was an old habit, when he had been the elder brother who would nurse a little elfling’s injuries. His smile widened as he took in his sister’s healthy, well-formed figure. There was a strange lightness in her manner that was reflected in her sapphire blue eyes.

“You are in love,” he said bluntly, he knew that expression, he had seen it on his mirror reflection many a time. Ah! Nimrodel! He sighed internally.

Anoriel fidgeted saying nervously, “I do not know, brother. It is a feeling I have never had before. The Prince makes my heart flutter,” her eyes took on a dreamy look.

Amroth laughed, “To think I have lived to see a day I would never have imagined. That my fiery, much pampered sister would fall in love! Who is it? Someone at Ada’s court?”

“Did Ada tell you nothing?” Anoriel frowned. Seeing Amroth shake his head, she proceeded blushing, “’Tis the Prince of Green wood, Thranduil Oropherion.”

Amroth stared at his sister in stunned silence. How did she fall in love with one so unlike her? He remembered the Prince well, so very well, from a night in Lindon. 

All his protective, fraternal instincts rose as he said sternly, “And Ada agrees?”

Anoriel shrugged, “He and King Oropher were the persons responsible for this proposal to strengthen alliances. I was not happy. But then I met the Prince and I…I guess it was like when you heard Nimrodel’s song the first time. But Ada, I do not know, he has been brooding recently.”

“As he well should!” Amroth bristled, “Anoriel , you are too naïve to bond to such an elf as Thranduil Oropherion! You do not have any idea what he is capable of!”

Anoriel lifted her chin proudly saying, “What do you mean?”

“He, Anoriel! He is fickle in his affections! I do not know how to explain it to you. But Thranduil Oropherion holds the dubious distinction of having bedded more than half the elves in the courts across Middle Earth!” Amroth spat disgustedly, “It is not a match I would countenance for my sister.”

Anoriel stood shocked and flushed crimson, for her family rarely spoke of such intimate matters so openly in her presence, then she said in a quiet voice, “He is not fickle. The love he bears his father is evident in his every action.”

“That is another reason why I would not have you marry him. He loves his father more than he can love anyone else!” Amroth said furiously, “I will not have my sister married to an elf who cannot give her his entire heart!”

“Will you stop loving Nimrodel even though you know well that she can never be yours?” Anoriel retorted, she knew it was low on her part to tell so to her brother.

Amroth’s face convulsed as he spoke in a pained voice, “If you love him the way I do Nimrodel, then , I shall not oppose your choice. Though I pray it were not so.”

 

Glorfindel hugged Gil-Galad warmly as he was received by the court of Lindon. He was weary after the battle and the long ride and now wanted nothing more than to be embroiled in one of those conspiracies at court. 

“Come, Glor,” Gil-Galad ushered him away from the main dining hall, “I thought we would have the proper celebration tomorrow eve as you must be exhausted.”

“I am grateful,” Glorfindel said thankfully. 

Gil-Galad mercifully led him to his own chambers and bade the maids bring a meal there. The King helped Glorfindel settle down and finally seated him in a comfortable chair by the fire and placed a glass of warm wine in his hands. 

Glorfindel said wearily, “Erestor has never listened to anyone. The most I could do was to send him with Elrond to safety.”

Gil-Galad took a seat opposite to Glorfindel and said wryly, “It made an excellent beginning to my dream marriage, Glor, I can tell you that. I woke up to find myself alone in the bed except for a prize hangover. But I am glad that he is safe and happy, from what I can sense through our bond.”

“Elrond and him, they get along well. They will be fine” , Glorfindel offered.

“My cousin,” Gil-Galad sighed, “He is a cause of concern,” he shook his head, “let me not sully your return with my fears and worries.”

Glorfindel did not broach the topic again and they ate quietly, conversing desultorily about the battle and its effects.

A sudden pounding on the door brought the conversation to a halt. Glorfindel made to get up, but Gil-Galad motioned him to stay seated and the King opened the door to find himself face to face with a very angry Menelwen.

“Where is he?” she demanded furiously.

Glorfindel stood up and watched her apprehensively, “Why are you here?”

Gil-Galad moved back uncertainly. 

Menelwen said angrily, “I am tired, Glorfindel. Tired of waiting for you. My brother’s bonded though he is younger than me. Perhaps you are just stalling because you do not in truth love me.”

Glorfindel stepped forward, the pain her words caused etched across his handsome visage. He said quietly, “I am not ready to take that step. Marriages are for eternity. And I love you too much to see you in an unhappy marriage, to cause you pain.”

Menelwen said in a low voice, “I am done with this waiting. Either we bond as soon as my brother arrives or we end this. How long will I wait uncertainly for a message concerning your safety to arrive whenever you ride to battle? If we bond, I can atleast sense your safety!”

Glorfindel said simply, “I need time, .”

Menelwen said frostily, “I shall not wait anymore, Lord Glorfindel. I bid thee a good day.”

 

Elrond smiled as he watched his mare frolic with Ebony. He was seated cross-legged on a jutting rock that looked over their camp. Down below, he could see Erestor supervising the construction of the tents for the women and the children. The Chief Counsellor was certainly in his element as he raised his high, clear tone confidently to boost the flagging morale in the camp. Elrond’s smile vanished. 

It had been weeks on the trail with barely enough food, water and fodder for the mounts. The guards were weary and the refugees bone tired. Now winter would set in. Both Elrond and Erestor had realized the folly of going on towards Lothlórien. One of Amdir’s riders had arrived bearing a message from the Lothlórien King stating that he had enough on his platter without sheltering refugees. Gil-Galad was reluctant to have them travel to Lindon. But on Erestor’s persuasion, he had agreed unwillingly. So they were now bound west. Now they were camped in a valley underneath the Hithelagir, the torturous Misty Mountains. They had decided to wait out the winter here. It was clear they could not go on without supplies which Gil-Galad had promised to send soon.

“What are you thinking?” Erestor demanded as he plopped down beside Elrond and closed his eyes tiredly. However it was evident that he enjoyed the administrative work despite the absence of Glorfindel. Gil-Galad’s rider had borne a message stating that Glorfindel was safe and they had been relieved of their anxiety.

Elrond rested his weight backwards onto his hands and stretched out his legs before saying lazily, “Was admiring the view.”

“View?” Elrond did not turn to look at Erestor, who, he was sure, would have raised an eyebrow, “What is so pleasing from here?”

Elrond did not reply. 

“Well,” Erestor said thoughtfully, “The valley is sheltered from the winds blowing from the Hithelagir and also well-watered. The soil is fertile, exceedingly so. The pastures are green, the trees friendly, the birds and animals carefree. I can see why you are relaxed. For I find myself strangely soothed and in some way attracted to the valley.”

“It is so for me also,” Elrond agreed, “I feel more at home here than I was at Lindon or the Havens of Sirion or even with Ada Maglor.”

Erestor grasped Elrond’s forearm in a show of companionship and said warmly, “I do understand what it means to be not loved enough by one’s own parents. But that was the past, Elrond. Now we are here because of ourselves, not because of what our parents’ deeds. Is that not enough for us to proud of ourselves?”

“Yes,” Elrond lay his other hand atop Erestor’s, “That is true,” he watched Dance being chased around by Ebony, “but yet I find myself wishing that someone would chase me like my mare is being chased right now.”

“As Gil chased me, you mean?” Erestor sniggered, “That is a dangerous dream, . I was scared witless when he first talked of it that night in Lindon!”

“It makes you feel valued,” Elrond said pensively.

“You say that to Glor! He wrote to me that he has broken up with my sister, the idiot. His reason was to keep her safe! I do not know what side I shall choose when I reach Lindon; Glor’s or my sister’s. It will require all of the lessons I have learnt in politics! And you are much valued, Elrond. Gil-Galad is all fired up with the intense desire to marry off his heir to Galadriel’s child!,” Erestor reminded him, “You will find yourself being chased around soon.”

Elrond said bleakly, “I do not know if I can be happy with a lady I share nothing in common with and I certainly do not think I can keep her content!”

Erestor said seriously, “Do you then prefer male company?”

“I have no idea,” Elrond shrugged.

“Same here,” Erestor admitted, “I did not even know half the uses of my body until Thranduil tutored me. And to think that I had excelled in physiognomy!” He lowered his voice before saying, “I am not even sure how women differ from males, I mean, in the bed. Thranduil offered to teach me, but I opted out.”

Elrond laughed helplessly, as he digested the last piece of revelation. 

Erestor said in a surly tone, “You are not supposed to laugh. I expected sympathy.”

“I do sympathize,” Elrond assured him recovering from his laughter after a particularly murderous glance from the dark-haired counsellor, “It was funny though!”

Erestor suddenly pinned him down onto his back and lightly strangled him. A part of Elrond watched detachedly as Erestor’s silken hair obscured his face. There was a lightness in them both, Elrond felt the influence of the valley. 

He cupped Erestor’s cheek and kissed him lightly on the brow saying, “If you wish to regain your honour, Lord Erestor, I suggest you adopt ways more suited to warriors than elflings. Shall we duel?”

The valley must have been working its magic on Erestor too, for he returned Elrond’s gesture and sat up saying, “Why not? But I admit, there is something in the air that makes me reckless! We should cap the swords lest we injure each other!”

They duelled awhile on the rock before running to the Bruinen to wash the grime off. The valley had made them so light-hearted that they dunked each other several times, before tiredly climbing on to the bank and sunning themselves dry. 

In the days that came, they worked together to supervise the food rationing, patrols, wood gathering and a score of other mundane activities. It was soon a bustling community in the valley. Elrond and Erestor escaped to the wilds often taking long walks, or riding across the pastures on their mounts. Everyday began and ended with a long leisurely swim in the Bruinen, they would talk of daily matters, weightier concerns and even personal experiences. In the days that passed, their attachment to the land that sheltered them grew stronger and they half-dreaded their return to the city of Lindon.

 

Celeborn watched Thranduil dance with the ladies at court, a wistful expression on his face, as he sipped from his goblet of wine.

Oropher, who sat next to him at the head of the table, smiled and said wickedly, “Would you enjoy dancing? Shall I ask my son to take you to the floor? I would take you for the dance myself, but I have not danced for centuries.”

Celeborn shook his head, “I was merely thinking of happier days, cousin. These days I care not much for dancing.”

Oropher said quietly, “Let me make this day a happy one for you, Celeborn,” he called for Thranduil, who arrived flushed after a particularly vigorous dance, “My son, would you do your duty as the Crown Prince and take our royal guest to the dance floor?”

Thranduil bowed and extended his hand to Celeborn saying, “Allow me the honour of the next dance with you, My Lord.”

Celeborn shrugged and throwing a wickedly smiling Oropher a disdainful look, he took Thranduil’s hand. The minstrels started playing a slow romantic ballad, one, which Celeborn was reminded, had been played at his wedding centuries ago. Trust Oropher to make him uncomfortable!

Thranduil said enthusiastically, “Shall we?”

“I’m not much good at dancing, ,” Celeborn tried to opt out, “Maybe for a less complicated dance.”

Thranduil replied pleasantly, “I know enough dancing to sustain us both through this dance, My Lord,” he snaked his arm around Celeborn’s waist and pulled him close to his chest. 

The on-looking elves cheered lustily and the dance floor emptied leaving them in sole possession of the arena. Oropher was on his feet now as he laughed at Celeborn’s flushed expression.

Celeborn sighed. Thranduil was stubborn and he thought it would be easier to stop protesting and submit to the Prince’s will. As the music picked up, Thranduil’s fingers threaded through his silver tresses. 

Celeborn remarked, “You are insufferable, Thranduil Oropherion. Have you forgotten that I am married and that I have a daughter your age?”

The Prince laughed, Celeborn noted that the sound was low and musical and extremely sensual, “My Lord, that does not diminish your radiance even a little. I love your company in more ways than one.”

“Are you seducing me on the dance floor?” Celeborn queried, “Before your father and the entire court of Green wood?”

Thranduil laughed, “Why Lord Celeborn? I am merely doing my duty as the Crown Prince to make you comfortable in my father’s realm,” his face darkened slightly, “I am no prostitute, My Lord.”

Celeborn said sincerely, “I have never thought so in my wildest dreams, . You are as a son to me. Never forget that. I love your father as my brother.”

The music picked up and Thranduil suddenly twirled him around causing Celeborn to lose his balance. He held onto Thranduil to prevent himself from falling and landed against Thranduil’s chest. He tried to regain his footing and tripping on his robes, fell down clumsily. Celeborn cursed Oropher for his predicament and hauled himself up. 

Thranduil said apologetically, “I did not mean for you to fall. I am sorry, My Lord,” there was genuine regret in those green eyes.

Celeborn shook his head saying, “I was always a poor dancer, My prince. It is not your fault that I tripped on my own robes. If anything it is your Adar’s fault to have got me into this situation despite knowing my lack of skills in dancing.”

Thranduil knelt on a single knee and kissed Celeborn’s fingers lightly before leading him off the dance floor. 

Oropher hurried to them and asked concernedly, “Cousin, are you all right?”

Celeborn saw no reason to forgive the King so easily. He grumbled, “My bones ache. I am going to retire, King Oropher.”

Thranduil suppressed a smile as he took in his father’s worried expression and hastily left the scene.

Oropher asked, “Since when have you called me King?”

“Since when have you ordered me onto a dance floor for a romantic dance with your son?” Celeborn retorted and turned away haughtily. 

He left the hall quickly, but he did not miss hearing Oropher excusing himself from the rest of the festivities. So like his concerned cousin to follow him and make things all right between them! Celeborn shook his head wryly, It was fortunate that Oropher had not married Galadriel. It required a lot of lying and scheming on both their sides to make that marriage comfortable.

Celeborn entered his chamber and stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the forest. He heard Oropher’s footsteps and the sound of a closing door.

“Cousin,” Celeborn said reassuringly, “I am all right.”

Oropher sighed, “I should have taken the dance in my son’s stead. He has this annoying habit of twirling people midway through the dance. I do apologize on his behalf.”

“It is nothing, cousin,” Celeborn waved away the apology, “I was just eager to get away from the festivities. To spend some time with you. Come, join me.”

They stood together watching the beautiful forests in the starlight. The night was truly magical, Celeborn thought. He turned to look at his companion. Oropher’s face was peaceful as he gazed up at the stars. But there was an ever haunting sorrow in those green eyes. Celeborn realized that he missed the Prince of Doriath, his companion in many a mischief, spirited and adventurous. Love had changed Oropher even as it had changed him.

“How can you do it?” Celeborn asked quietly.

“What?” Oropher asked curiously turning to face his cousin.

“Celibacy. I find it impossible not to seek pleasure even if I know my wife will see it in the cursed mirror of hers,” Celeborn said bitterly.

“I have a son,” Oropher reminded him.

“I have a daughter, whom I cherish more than anything else in this Middle-Earth. I would die to keep her safe and happy. Yet that does not improve my loose morals in marriage,” Celeborn remarked.

“You love your daughter as I love my son, cousin,” Oropher said slowly, “Yet the fact remains that you will be able to live for your own sake. I cannot. My life is measured by my son’s need for my presence in his life.”

Celeborn said sadly, “I know that is true though I wish it were not so. If you wish, I will warm your bed and your heart tonight. It will not assuage the permanent wounds on your fea, but it may help you find some rest.”

Oropher said smiling bitterly, “As much as I wish it, I cannot take that offer, cousin. My heart and my passion are closed. I love you too much to insult you thus,” he hesitated, then uncertainly cupped Celeborn’s cheek with his right hand and said softly, “May Elbereth bless you and watch over your house always, cousin. You must find your own happiness before it is too late.”

“Will you ask nothing for yourself?” Celeborn asked sadly, “What I offer I do so of my own will.”

“Never have I heard you of doing otherwise, my dear cousin. No, I shall not ask anything of you other than this, watch over my son if I cannot,” Oropher said quietly, “I would not leave him alone and unguided in this Middle-Earth.”

“Are you thinking of going West?” Celeborn asked shocked.

Oropher smiled, “Nay, cousin. I will not sail and be parted from my son willingly. I was merely asking your assurance if something should happen.”

Celeborn nodded unhesitatingly as he said, “Your blood is my blood. Your son is my son, Oropher. I shall watch over him always and vow to keep him safe by whatever means I possess. But tonight, I insist on watching over your sleep, cousin. You are weary and unable to sleep. Do not bother to oppose me,” he said dangerously, “You were never good at lying, I shall see you rested atleast one day before my stay ends.”

 

Galadriel tried to make sure that her husband was safe through their ever weakening bond, but she found herself blocked from his thoughts. She frowned. He had never done so before. Even in the midst of his liaisons, she was tormented by images of pleasure and pain as it unknowingly flowed through their bond. She tried to find out his doings through her mirror. But it showed her nothing. She was reminded of Melian’s words, “Use these gifts never for your own purposes.”

* * *

“Riders arrive, My Lords!” a guard said breathlessly as he rushed to the river bank where Elrond and Erestor were spending the evening. Elrond paused collecting the herbs for his healing supplies, which grew aplenty there. Erestor looked up from his inventory parchments ceasing his calculations.

“Who leads them?” Elrond queried.

“’RESTOR!” a loud, familiar tone reverberated through the woods.

Erestor stood up in one fluid motion and rushed towards the voice like a little elfling leaving Elrond alone with the messenger. 

Elrond shrugged saying, “It has been a while since they have seen each other,” but internally he felt a pang of foolish regret. How could Erestor leave him so abruptly, so easily, at the mere sound of Glorfindel’s voice? Had he been merely a stop-gap until Erestor could obtain more pleasant company? He shook himself out of these depressive musings as Glorfindel arrived in the clearing chattering happily with an equally excited Erestor.

Elrond strode forward and clasped Glorfindel’s arm in a warrior’s embrace. 

The elf returned the gesture and said warmly, “You look well than you did before the war, as does Erestor.”

“It must have been the lack of your company, Glor,” Erestor said smoothly.

“Not even a few moments and you two have to start it,” Elrond grumbled as Glorfindel retorted aptly.

“Well,” Erestor tugged at Glorfindel’s arm, “let us show you the camp and the valley. First, I will find food for your company and ask someone to see to your horses.”

The next few days, they showed Glorfindel around ‘their’ valley, as they called it fondly. The Elda agreed that there was something alluring about the place but was clearly anxious to return to Lindon. 

After one exhausting friendly duel with a guard elf, Elrond set out to take a dip in the river. As he walked towards their usual cove, he heard Glorfindel’s voice.

“How was Elrond during the past few days?” the Elda’s voice was coloured with concern.

“Very merry,” Erestor replied, “It was good to see him in such high spirits. But then the air in the valley is very conducive to merriness!”

“No,” Glorfindel said uneasily, “I meant how does he take the idea that Gil is proposing to have his bonding engagement with Celebrían this spring?”

“Glor,” Erestor’s voice reflected his displeasure, “I do not think that is wise. Elrond, well, Elrond is already in love with someone. This bonding with Celebrían will not be happy. We need to think of his heart, he is not an heir-breeding stallion.”

“The past few days have thrown you two together a lot,” Glorfindel said quietly, “Mayhap he has revealed his heart’s choice to you?”

“No,” Erestor replied grumpily, “We have been too busy keeping the refugees safe, rationing the food, building shelters, sending out patrols and the rest of the time, I spent worrying over you. I really did not have the time to make him confide in me. I am glad we got along well and for my part, I like his company. He is an excellent warrior and administrator. And a sensitive soul who cares for others. He has saved my life more than once these past few days. Elrond Peredhil is more than a worthy choice for any elf. Nobody will spurn his love.”

Elrond felt his heart burgeon with pleasure. But it was a momentary sensation as he thought of Gil-Galad.

Glorfindel sighed, “I wish things were different.”

“You wish for yourself first, what is this I hear about my sister?” Erestor asked irritably.

“Long story, short moral,” Glorfindel said wearily.

 

Galadriel smiled as she watched her nephew pour her tea and add a single sugar cube to it. 

“You remember?” she teased Gil-Galad.

“Perfectly,” the King said smiling, “Is the single cube the reason for your radiance?”

Galadriel said wryly, “I think your eyes are failing you, Gil, for you are seeing something what I have never seen in my reflection these past few years.”

“Yes,” Gil-Galad said seriously, “You are looking ill. What is it?”

“Would that I knew,” Galadriel sighed, “But I am here to talk of something else. Amdir wishes to have the Noldor chair the negotiations concerning his daughter’s marriage to the house of Oropher.”

“The house of Oropher? Who, the Prince?” Gil-Galad frowned.

“Really, Gil, sometimes you can be obtuse. There are only two of the royal blood in Green wood, the Prince and Oropher himself. You know Oropher has not marriage on his list of priorities,” Galadriel said as she found herself relaxing, which she knew had exactly been her nephew’s intention.

“Ah, well! Though I wish that Oropher fell in love with a Noldo, it would make arguments with him more bearable,” Gil-Galad sighed, “But why does Amdir want us to chair what is definitely a matter between the Sindar royal houses?”

“He has been having second thoughts concerning this. And he wishes for neutral ground,” Galadriel said carefully.

Gil-Galad shrugged, “I cannot say anything now until my Chief Counsellor, Herald and Seneschal arrive. They have to be appraised of these events.”

Galadriel nodded and said quietly, “I hope to have Elrond’s answer soon.”

“My will is his wish,” Gil-Galad said breezily, “We just have to make sure of Lord Celeborn’s will. What does he say?”

“He and I are of the same mind,” Galadriel lied coolly, “We wish our daughter to have a safe, cherished marriage.”

“As yours is,” Gil-Galad said lightly, though monitoring her reaction closely. He was determined to get to the bottom of the matter. The rumours regarding Galadriel’s marriage worried him. He watched the expression on his dear aunt’s care-worn face change.

Galadriel was not able to prevent a flicker of doubt on her features before she said composedly, “Yes, indeed.”

Gil-Galad set down his teacup and got to his feet. He approached her and knelt down by her side. 

Taking her bony hands in his own larger ones, he asked quietly, “Will you not set aside your pride atleast before me?”

“I do not know what you mean,” Galadriel feigned ignorance, though she knew it would not work. Gil-Galad had always been able to read her feelings easily. Their relationship was deep and loving. And at the moment, Galadriel wished that her husband would understand her so.

“I know your sorrow well and the reason for it,” Gil-Galad caressed her hands softly, “He suffers even as you do. Is it too much for you to relinquish your pride and go to him? Why do you continue to put both of you through this misery?”

Galadriel buried her face on his large shoulder and whispered sadly, “I wish things were so easy to rectify. How can we start anew after I have watched him seek pleasure in countless arms even as my wedding ring sits upon his fingers?”

Gil-Galad pulled her to his chest as she broke down into heavy sobs, the grief that had been eating her from within slowly surfacing after decades. 

Now that the floodgates had been opened, Galadriel found it easier to let go of her usual pride and she relaxed in his arms as she sobbed out her sorrow, “He bids me good morning every day and spends the day away from me. Even in council, he seeks to avoid me. Talking is only for the gravest matters, all the rest of mutual concerns, we send messages through our daughter. We cannot even remain alone with each other these days. He volunteers himself for the patrols leaving me alone and anxious for his safety. I pray for him to return safely even when I know he is in the arms of another. His cries of pleasure reverberate in our wedding bond, which itself is weakening rapidly. Now I cannot even sense his thoughts.”

Gil-Galad waited patiently until her sobs had died out into silence and then he lifted up her chin and asked quietly, “Has he hurt you in any other way?”

Galadriel saw the furious expression in her nephew’s eyes and said hastily, “Never intentionally. He was led astray into infidelity because,” she blushed and her head drooped, “because we do not sleep in the same talan anymore.”

“That does not give him a valid reason to disregard his marriage vows so openly before your eyes,” Gil-Galad said angrily, “He promised to cherish you! To value you more than all else! Oropher is alone, yet he does not seek pleasure in the arms of another!”

Galadriel rested her head against his warm chest and closed her eyes saying, “It is in the past. I am glad I had the courage to relinquish my pride and tell you. I feel more clear minded than I have felt in centuries.”

Gil-Galad said quietly, “You need to do something about this. Do you know what you feel for him now?”

Galadriel shook her head wearily, “I have no idea, Gil. I do but know,” she looked up at him, the proud fire of Finarfin’s daughter burning in her eyes once more, “that I have to see him and talk with him concerning the past. Then maybe I shall know where we stand.”

Gil-Galad kissed her forehead gently and said, “He shall have to answer to me if he mistreats you. Is he still in Lothlórien or has he come to Lindon?”

Galadriel told him, “He is in the Green wood, with his kin Oropher.”

“Shall I summon him hither?” Gil-Galad asked her.

Galadriel smiled as she looked at Gil-Galad’s angry face, “Do you miss an argument with Oropher so much? I think since I have been able to give up this much of my pride, it would not harm me to ride to Green wood and surprise him.”

“You are going to what?” Gil-Galad asked incredulously.

Galadriel laughed, the sound more reminiscent of the carefree laughter she had centuries ago, and she remarked, “I seem to have forgotten the joy to be had in surprising others, Gil. Your reaction encourages me. Let me ride out for the Sindar stronghold and fetch my husband.”

“You still love him, that is evident,” Gil-Galad said in a pained voice.

Galadriel’s face darkened as she agreed softly, “So much that I had started fading without his love. If he ends our marriage, then I shall fade. I do not think I can bear to see him with another.”

Gil-Galad opened his mouth to retort fiercely, but he realized the futility. Celeborn was not his subject, not even a Noldor. Even if he threatened Amdir and had Celeborn banished from Lothlórien, Oropher would grant refuge to his beloved cousin. And he would never have Elrond’s or Erestor’s support in such a decision. Both of them were wary of Galadriel and got along well with Celeborn.

He said grudgingly, “All right then, I shall prepare for an escort to leave with you at dawn.”

“I leave now, I don’t need an escort,” Galadriel said firmly, “No, Gil, don’t argue with me. I have faced greater perils than a lonely journey. I will be safe.”

Gil-Galad knew from centuries of experience with her that to persuade her would not be of any avail. So trusting himself to the safety of the paths and her wisdom, he nodded reluctantly. 

 

Anoriel said indignantly, “Why cannot I come with you, Adar? After all it is the discussion of my marriage.”

Amdir said sternly, “You are too young to be dragged to councils! You stay here with your naneth and Lady Celebrían.”

Anoriel bowed with extreme politeness and left her father and King’s presence. She would find a way to travel to Lindon. She hastened to intercept her brother before he rode on patrol. 

Half an hour of cajoling later, Amroth said reluctantly, “All right, but I must be allowed to form my own impressions regarding his love for you and you must promise to heed my words in this matter.”

Anoriel said confidently, “Agreed.”

 

Elrond and Erestor rode at the head of the small group along with Glorfindel. They had left Glorfindel’s second in charge of the refugee camp at the valley in the base of the mountains. Elrond and Erestor were both heavy hearted to leave the place where they had found some semblance of peace, but they could no longer delay returning to their King and kin.

Gil-Galad was waiting impatiently at the steps of the palace for his bonded mate and heir who had ridden off to battle without him. His frown vanished when he saw Erestor break away from the rest of the riders and gallop madly towards him. There was such a joy in those black eyes that he loved, that he forgot all his concerns and burdens of his kingship as he drowned in those eyes.

Erestor jumped off his stallion into Gil-Galad’s waiting arms. Elrond watched painfully as the happy couple kissed oblivious to their surroundings. There was an air of complete contentment and joy around them. He knew that moment that he could never settle for anyone else. His love would always be unrequited and he could never love anyone else that way.

He was roused from his brooding when Glorfindel gasped next to him. Erestor and Gil-Galad had finally stopped kissing. Erestor’s sister, Menelwen was standing with Galdor as she welcomed her brother. As the siblings hugged each other, Elrond watched Galdor direct a possessive look towards Menelwen, who was whispering something to a now frowning Erestor. As Gil-Galad came forward to receive Elrond, Erestor gently disengaged himself from his sister’s embrace and made his way to Glorfindel who had turned ashen white.

They retired to the King’s private rooms, just the four of them.

Elrond and Gil-Galad were seated as usual in their customary armchairs by the fire, a goblet of wine in their hands. Erestor was at the window seat, his face turned away from the rest. Glorfindel was unusually sombre.

“You should have agreed to the bonding ceremony,” Gil-Galad said reasonably, “With due respect to you, Glorfindel, I must say that you have kept her waiting for an unnaturally long time!”

Glorfindel said wearily, “I was a fool.”

“And you continue to be one,” Gil-Galad snapped, “Galdor has asked me to hold their betrothal ceremony come spring. You should act.”

“How so? I cannot spoil her chance at happiness,” Glorfindel said miserably.

“Really, Glorfindel,” Gil-Galad said angrily, “How can you be so obtuse? For she does it merely to make you come and claim her forgiveness and love!”

Glorfindel said quietly, “She seems happy with him.”

“Glorfindel, you are so naïve!,” Gil-Galad spat furiously, “How can you not see her sorrow? You broke her heart and it is you, not Galdor, who has to take the responsibility of mending it!”

Glorfindel sat up and said smoothly, “It is a private matter, Gil. Let it pass.”

“It IS not a private matter,” Gil-Galad was working himself into a temper, “YOU ARE THE WORST ELF ANYONE COULD FALL IN LOVE WITH! You do not realize the value of love even after two lives!”

“The matters of my heart are my own concern,” Glorfindel replied steadily, though now there was a dangerous glint in those blue eyes.

Elrond looked at Erestor, the latter was still staring out of the window determinedly.   
Elrond decided to intervene before Gil-Galad flew into one of his fiery moods. 

He said pleasantly, “Gil, why don’t you retire early? Erestor seems to be waiting for us to break up for the night. He has missed you.”

Gil-Galad’s face lightened as he said, “Yes, indeed, it has been a long wait.”

“Which was because he had to go into war on your stead, you were drunk, if you remember. I do not want the same fate for Menelwen, at the hand of one she loves. Which is why I will let her go,” Glorfindel sneered. 

Elrond felt like wringing his hands as Gil-Galad stood up and said furiously, “You overstep your limits, Glorfindel! I am the King here.”

“The only King that ended up with a hangover while Kings Amdir, Oropher and even the human King Aldor rode for war!” Glorfindel pointed out smirking.

Gil-Galad started to stride across the room, but Elrond quickly threw himself into the King’s path and forcibly led him away. He stayed with Gil-Galad silently until Erestor arrived half-an-hour later, looking exhausted. Elrond was already tired of Lindon. He wished for the starlit nights in the valley under the Hithelagir.

 

Thranduil walked under the stars singing quietly to himself. He rarely spent time on his own, preferring his father’s company. But tonight Celeborn had chivvied his father to bed and had promised Thranduil to watch over his sleep. Thranduil was very grateful for Celeborn’s presence. Oropher seemed to be less care worn when he was with his cousin. And Celeborn was excellent at making Oropher eat and sleep by threatening him that he would tell Thranduil stories of their youth. Thranduil idly wondered why his father was so careful to conceal from him the stories of their childhood in Doriath and Menegroth.

The sudden whinny of a horse alerted him of an intruder. He cast out his thoughts to the animal. It told him that its name was Ringwe and that it bore an elf who wanted it to remain quiet and alert nobody. Thranduil cautiously probed the surround with his mind and felt the presence of a strange power. He got to his feet silently as he tried to place the familiar feel of the intruder’s mind.

“Lord Thranduil?” Galadriel asked as she watched the golden haired elf approach her quietly. She had wanted to surprise him, but her mare had refused to give in to her command. The Sindar truly possessed a way with animals that the Noldor could never dream of.

“My Lady Galadriel,” Thranduil hid his surprise skilfully and bowed low before extending his hand to help her down from her mount. He had sensed the Elven Ring of Nenya.

Galadriel accepted his hand and dismounted. Thranduil whispered a few words in the mare’s ear and it disappeared through the trees obediently. The Prince then led Galadriel towards his father’s fortress silently.

“You have recovered well, I hope?” Galadriel attempted to initiate a conversation.

“Yes, indeed, thanks to my father’s healers and the Valar’s grace,” Thranduil responded politely, not even bothering to ask how she knew.

Galadriel knew she had to be careful with him. He was more adept in diplomacy and negotiations and soft lying than his father. She sensed the power emanating from his form. It almost equalled the power of her ring. For a moment, she felt jealous that he could be so powerful for one so young as compared to her own age, but then she reflected sadly that life was better without power. Thranduil Oropherion, she knew well, was an elf who would defend what he loved by whatever means he could summon. She could not risk antagonizing him. He was a true hunter who would offer his prey no quarter.

“Is your father well?” Galadriel settled on a safe question. She could not ask about the battle, not when Amdir, her King, had refused to send an army to aid Thranduil’s realm.

“My father is quite well, thank you,” Thranduil said graciously.

“My son, who is that new trophy of yours?” Oropher asked in Quenya as he espied his son. He had not yet recognized Galadriel.

Galadriel was about to tell him when Thranduil said emotionlessly, “Ada, Lady Galadriel.”

Oropher approached them and after a scrutiny of Galadriel’s form, he said quietly, “I think it best, my son, if you would leave us now.”

Thranduil kissed Galadriel’s hand coldly, nodded to his father and left without a backward glance.

 

________________________________________

* * *

Galadriel waited for Oropher to speak first. He had a stern expression on his face which did not bode well for her.

“My Lady,” The King said quietly, “I must say that your arrival was unexpected. Has Amdir started sending his female counsellors on errands to neighbouring realms?”

Galadriel knew that she should give up her pride if she was to see her husband, Oropher had always been very protective of his kin. She took a deep breath and said sincerely, “I came on no errand. I merely wish to see my husband.”

Oropher frowned imperceptibly before saying coldly, “I shall ask for an aide to lead you to a guest room. Maybe you can see him in the morning.”

“No, My Lord Oropher,” Galadriel said anxiously, she knew she had to meet her husband while her courage still held, “I cannot rest before I see him.”

Oropher said sadly, “You have caused him much grief.”

“Yes, I know,” Galadriel said quietly, only the tightness of her voice indicating how difficult it was for her to admit that she had been wrong.

Oropher did not reply as he folded his arms across his chest, obviously waiting for a more satisfying explanation.

“I have made him unhappy over the centuries. I have tried to be the woman he fell in love with. But I am tired. The ring and the mirror are draining me,” Galadriel admitted.

“That gives you no reason to treat him thus! Do you think us Sindar too ignorant to understand these burdens?” Oropher exclaimed, “Do you think he did not know of your toils? He would have shared in them willingly even if you had not asked! But you, you had to keep him at a distance farther than you kept your kin!”

“You say so!” Galadriel said in a low voice, “Then perhaps you would explain to me why he seeks pleasure in the arms of others when he cares for my burdens? He left our marriage bed, he debased our marriage vows, it is not my name that he cries out when he is at the height of pleasure though it is indeed my ring that shines upon his fingers even when they caress another body!”

Oropher did not reply as he stared out at the canopy of stars above his forests. 

“You have no words to say to that, Oropher!,” Galadriel said vindictively, “I thought that you would be the best authority to ask an opinion on matters of the heart for did you not sentence your love to fade from grief while you survived? No wonder why Celeborn follows your path. It is folly to love one of your house indeed!”

The anguish writ across Oropher’s visage caused her to halt her words and she swallowed nervously. She had not meant to speak so and had certainly never meant her words. But, she realized bitterly, it was too late to repair the damage her words had caused in Oropher’s long grieving heart.

Oropher said tiredly, “I may indeed be all that you presume me to be. But my cousin, whom you say you love, he is not me. I suggest you judge us not by the same standards, Galadriel for I most certainly would not want the fate of Vanima to be yours.”

“I am sorry,” Galadriel said in an equally weary tone, “I had no right or reason to speak thus to you. I do not know what made me utter those craven words. Forgive me.”

Oropher said quietly, “It is forgiven but cannot be forgotten, the latest in a long line of reproaches that I hear every day for daring to love. Let me however escort you to his chamber. Come.”

Galadriel took his arm and realized that his power was weakening. There was an air of silent despair around him. 

She said softly, “You should sail soon, my lord.”

“My son needs me,” Oropher said simply.

“He will be happier to send you to Valinor to heal and be at peace than to make you stay here in despair for his sake. You may fade and die of grief,” Galadriel said sighing as she felt a foreboding rise in her that Oropher would never sail West.

“My cousin’s chamber. Doom yourselves not to my fate,” Oropher advised.

Galadriel nodded shakily and kissed Oropher’s signet ring in a gesture of respect. Then she took a deep breath and opened her husband’s bed chamber door. The curtains were pulled down around the large bed in the middle of the room. She closed the door silently and barred it. Slowly, she made her way to the bed and raised the curtains.

Celeborn was lying on his side, his features relaxed in reverie. The silken bed covers had slipped exposing his smooth upper torso. Galadriel shuddered. She thought determinedly to enjoy one night of passive pleasure before facing the future.

She gently lay down so as not to wake him and faced him. Their faces were scant inches apart. She placed her arm around his waist and watched fascinated as he imitated her gesture unconsciously. Drinking in the features she loved so much, Galadriel found herself drifting to sleep easily for the first time in many centuries.

 

Celeborn woke at dawn as he usually did and gasped in shock as he saw the once familiar body lying in his embrace. Hastily, he pulled his arms away and moved to the other side of the bed as he tried to make sense of the scene. Galadriel was roused by the sudden loss of her husband’s body heat and she opened her eyes grimly. This was the moment she had feared. The moment for explanations.

She watched sadly as Celeborn hastily threw a loose robe around his naked body before turning to face her. Amazement, anger and anguish shadowed his handsome face as he folded his arms across his chest waiting for her to speak.

“I missed you,” Galadriel said lamely. How she wished that she had listened to her daughter flirting with the border guards of Lothlórien! 

Celeborn sighed, “Oropher did not tell me of any official intimation from Amdir regarding your arrival. If so I would have ridden to meet your escort.”

Galadriel sat up and pushed her hair away from her face before saying quietly, “I come from Lindon.”

“Oh!” Celeborn replied, “Even so, if you had written to me, I would have met your escort at the borders.”

Galadriel said simply, “I came alone.”

Celeborn frowned, “Gil-Galad could spare none of his guards for an escort? I find it difficult to believe so. He has always been attentive to these matters.”

“No,” Galadriel shook her head, “It was on my insistence. I did not want to be delayed.”

“Regarding a vision you had concerning this realm?” Celeborn said anxiously, “I shall call for Oropher now then.”

“No,” Galadriel said firmly, “I came because I did not want to be parted from you.”

Celeborn raised his eyebrows. He was sure that he was still asleep and dreaming for the woman he was married to would never speak such words. He decided to change this line of conversation and plastered a courteous expression on his face.

“May I escort you to breakfast then?” Celeborn asked politely.

Galadriel said in a trembling voice, “No, husband, we need to talk.”

Celeborn lost whatever good humour he had been holding to for the past few moments as he asked angrily, “Do you not think it is too late for that?”

“I came here because I have begun to fade without your presence in my life,” Galadriel confessed, “I wish to salvage our relationship.”

“I have no idea why you think you can rectify centuries of deadlock with a few moments of conversation,” Celeborn shook his head incredulously, “I suggest we go for breakfast and then prepare to leave for Lothlórien. I would not bring my martial problems under my cousin’s roof. He has enough to worry about as it is.”

Galadriel took a deep breath, she needed to act now, this was her only chance, her last chance for rescuing their marriage. 

“Will you make love to me?” she asked him nervously.

“WHAT?” Celeborn spluttered, “Are you ill, Galadriel?” 

He strode towards her quizzically and placed his hand on her forehead, which was hot. He frowned as he tried to make sense of what promised to be the most bewildering morning in his life so far. His wife had never asked him to make love to her even once in their long, eventful marriage! Theirs had been a platonic love mostly.

“Let me call for a healer. You are not well,” he stated firmly. 

Galadriel grasped his hand in both of hers and said gravely, “You may do with me what you wish. You may even null our marriage and choose a better partner. I will deny you nothing, but I ask for this, please make love to me now. Only this I ask of you.”

Celeborn shook his head disbelievingly as his wife looked up at him with fear and hope in her eyes. He noticed for the first time in many months that she had become frailer and more careworn. Her hair had lost much of its customary lustre and there were deep, dark circles around her eyes. Her bones jarred against his smooth flesh as her fingers closed tightly around his own. He felt a pang of sadness as he took in her weak form and he bent down to press a kiss on her forehead.

“Will you?” she asked fearfully.

“I do not know what are my feelings regarding our marriage, Galadriel,” he sighed, “I have not been to faithful to you, as you well know. I have not even tried to apologize for my mistakes.”

“Let us not think of that now. Please, leave all else be. Just make love to me now with whatever passion you can spare for this wrecked body and soul,” Galadriel begged him.

“I will never deny you anything,” he said as a single tear glistened down his cheek when he realized that his proud wife was begging him for something for the first time in their long marriage. He wished that he had never let things reach this situation. To see her brought so low broke his heart. 

He watched uncertainly as she rose to her feet and stood before him. Her garments were stained with the waydirt of her long, reckless journey east. He lifted his trembling hands to divest her of her robes. 

As he fumbled with the laces of her undergown, she remarked in a bittersweet tone, “You are still clumsy with laces.”

He smiled weakly as her hands steadied his own. Together they opened the lace ties and the garment parted to reveal her reed thin body. Celeborn sadly noticed that her once well formed figure had shrunken, her skin was less smooth and her once firm breasts were less erect.

“It must be a poorer offering than you are accustomed to,” she said bitterly.

He shook his head and engaged her lips for a light kiss. They were both reminded of the secret kisses that they would share under the strict chaperoning of the early days of their love. Galadriel wanted him to stop reminding them of the past. She opened her mouth allowing him entrance. He teased her lips nibbling lightly before delving his tongue into her mouth.

Celeborn sighed as his tongue re-explored territory that had been so familiar centuries ago. The sweetness of her taste, he groaned into her mouth as long forgotten sensations drowned him. 

Galadriel undid the ties on his robe and it fell down his body leaving him naked She devoured him with her eyes well aware that this could well be her last chance. She was determined to craft a golden memory of their love.

Celeborn shivered as the cool morning breeze played over his naked body. He took Galadriel’s hand and led her to the bed. As she lay down on her back, he carefully slid above her, trying not to put his full weight on her frail form. 

He kissed her again deeply and she sighed, threading her fingers through his hair. He moved up to suckle and nip at her sensitive ear points earning a deep gasp of pleasure from her. He felt himself grow incredibly hard as he moved down to suckle at her breasts. He smiled relieved. For he did not know if he had been still capable of being passionate about her. She arched beneath him, her hands pulling desperately at his hair. He moved on to her other breast and accorded it the same treatment as she writhed beneath him. 

He left a line of kisses down her body until he reached her vagina. He looked up into her eyes uncertainly.

“Please,” she said hoarsely, her eyes shut tightly.

He flicked his tongue into her sacred womanhood, his hands gripping her waist to hold her down. She arched and writhed until she came suddenly with his name on her lips. He felt grief envelope him even as he mechanically drunk clean her juices, the slightly bitter flavour, reminding him of their past.

She sat up and asked him, “Take me however you wish.”

“How long has it been?” he asked though he feared her answer.

“The day we celebrated our child’s three hundreth begetting ceremony,” she said simply.

He ignored, but could not erase his shame of having being so disloyal when she had remained true all those years. 

He knelt on the bed and said quietly, “It will be less painful on your back. I want you to stop me if it hurts.”

She nodded silently and parted her legs for him. He looked at her once more before slowly sheathing himself inside her, they were both shocked to find the passage fit his erection so snugly. He gripped her waist tightly and guided her legs to snake around his torso. Then he started moving. He cringed as he watched a spasm of pain on her features during his first thrust. But soon, she arched her pelvis to meet his thrust. Their momentum increased steadily until he came with a mighty roar and his essence was released into her passage. 

For a few moments, they lay breathing erratically, too tired even to move. Then Celeborn pulled himself out and rolled to the far end of the bed, not believing that this had just happened.

He closed his eyes tightly, but he could not stop his ears hearing the panting voice of his wife whisper drowsily, “I love you, my silver tree.” 

He lay silently until her deep breathing told him that she had drifted into dreams. Then he quietly got up and threw a loose robe about his form before setting out to seek his cousin. He needed advice and more desperately, a listening ear.

 

Oropher’s chambers were open and Celeborn hastily walked to the bed. It was empty. Celeborn looked around and spotted the open balcony doors.

“Oropher?” He called gently.

“Celeborn?” Oropher’s voice was slightly nervous, “Come hither. We are watching the dawn.”

Celeborn joined him on the balcony. 

“You knew of her arrival,” Celeborn said simply.

“Yes,” Oropher sighed, “I escorted her to your doors yesternite. She was distraught, never had I seen her thus!”

“She was acting strangely,” Celeborn confessed, “It ended up with us making love today morning.”

“The issue of your infidelity has broken her more than she shows,” Oropher said wearily, “She however understands the folly of looking too much at the past. She is ready to let it go.”

“So she said,” Celeborn admitted, “But how can follies be undone so easily? I am not sure that I can forgive myself and I certainly cannot say that I love her as I did centuries ago. But I,” he faltered, “whatever passion I have, it is only when I think of her.”

“Then you will learn to fall in love again,” Oropher said confidently, “You just have to rekindle your friendship for that was what in the first place grew into love.”

Celeborn nodded nervously, “I will give us both a second chance.” 

They remained quietly for a few moments before Celeborn asked something that had been puzzling him since the beginning of the conversation, “Oropher, you said ‘we’ were watching the sunrise.”

Oropher smiled wickedly, “My son, you have not wished Celeborn a good morning.”

“Good day beckons you, Lord Celeborn!” Thranduil leapt onto the balcony from a tree branch overhanging them, a smirk on his handsome features.

Celeborn turned a delicate shade of pink before hastily taking his leave of the father and son. To think that he had been overheard by the Prince discussing his love life with Oropher!

 

Galadriel was standing at the window, the bed covers loosely wrapped around her, when Celeborn reached their room. There was an expression of abject misery on her features.

“I am sorry for having left, but I had to attend to certain matters,” Celeborn offered as he crossed the room to her side.

She turned to face him, defeat evident in her eyes as she said simply, “It is of no consequence. I am used to waking up alone. If you had not left me today before I woke, then that memory would have been painful for the rest of my solitary life.”

Celeborn said quietly, “I have not treated you fairly thus far. I have made my marriage vows a mockery. I am not worthy of your forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness?” Galadriel laughed bitterly, “I am to blame for I pushed you away. I do not deserve your love, I am a kinslayer’s daughter. I am an orphan. There is none who would cross you were you to blame me! Unlike your cousin, who stood by you, even when I accused you of something he could not deny!”

“Galadriel,” Celeborn said pleadingly, “Let us give it one more chance. For our sake, for our child’s sake!”

“What?” she whispered, hope and fear colouring her voice.

“Forgive me,” Celeborn knelt before her, “I beg of you one more chance.”

Galadriel knelt down and said brokenly, “I would die if you asked me to, the fool I was not to realize that!”

Celeborn threw his arms around her frail form and they buried their faces in the other’s tresses and rocked each other as they sobbed unconsolably.

 

“Ada,” Thranduil smiled as he rested his head on his father’s shoulder contentedly, “They make an interesting couple.”

Oropher pulled his son’s head onto his lap as he leaned back comfortably in his chair. Thranduil sprawled lazily on the floor, his eyes half shut.

“That they do, but tell me my son, why do you dislike her so?” Oropher queried curiously.

“She is too proud, Adar. One day she shall pay for that folly,” Thranduil said solemnly.

Oropher wondered idly how his son could sound like a spoilt elfling one moment and the next moment like one of the Maia. He said teasingly, “So are you too, my son, you are prouder than her!”

“Maybe,” the Prince said, “but I do not meddle with the fates of others as she does. Only I shall pay for my folly. But her folly will affect kingdoms and lives of men and elves alike.”

“You mean her idea of making Elrond bond with Celebrían?” Oropher asked sadly, “No good shall come out of that bonding!”

“Adar-nin,” Thranduil said calmly, “There shall be no bond. For Elrond’s heart is too deeply buried by his love for Erestor. That love shall not fade easily if ever it does. And he will agree to the marriage for he shall do nothing to hurt Erestor in any way. He is unselfish and noble, but when it comes to Erestor, he will be ruthless to protect his secret. Galadriel realizes what she is pushing her daughter into and yet she persists!”

“Will you interfere?” Oropher asked him quietly.

“No, I will not have trouble upon Erestor or Elrond for this. I wish Celeborn could dissuade his wife, Celebrían is walking ignorantly into this marriage. But their matters are not my concern, Adar. My only concern is you,” Thranduil played with his father’s fingers.

________________________________________

* * *

Glorfindel watched the Sindar entourage from Lothlórien dismount proudly. Amdir was accompanied by his wife, daughter and son. Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. It was probably the first time that the Lórien King had taken his family outside his own borders and predictably there was a sullen expression on his handsome but harsh features. Gil-Galad was receiving them courteously. He led Amdir, Amroth and the rest of the male nobles inside the halls, while Menelwen guided the females of the contingent. Glorfindel averted his eyes.

“Glor,” Erestor’s soothing voice calmed him, “Come with me.”

Glorfindel followed his friend and sword brother silently and they made their way inside.

“I have not seen Elrond today,” Erestor remarked concernedly, “I thought he would turn up to receive the Lórien nobles.”

“Now that he is back in Lindon, he has been brooding again,” Glorfindel admitted, “I guess he must be in the barracks or in his study working his way through the papers until he faints of exhaustion and hunger.”

Erestor sighed, “Lindon does not agree with his spirits. Maybe seeing Tar-Minastir’s men shall pull him out of his shell. Or Aldor’s contigent. He gets along with Aldor’s wife.”

Glorfindel smiled on hearing Aldor’s name, “I look forward to greeting the young chief, we must deepen our acquaintance, we had scarce time for conversations during the battle. But the little I have known him, I like his company. He is remarkably wise for one so young, and very brave in battle.”

“He is a human, Glor,” Erestor reminded him, “Their race grows in wisdom faster than ours for their lives are shorter. They have a greater zest for life according to Elrond.”

“Elrond knows the bitterness of mortality all too well,” Glorfindel agreed, “but yet he says sometimes the gift of men is valuable. They do not grow weary of life,” he shook his head tiredly.

Erestor halted walking and folded his arms across his chest. He said in a dangerous voice, “Are you weary of life?”

“I feel so sometimes that I have lived past my quota,” Glorfindel shook his head sadly.

“Perhaps you think it is better to fade?” Erestor asked in the same low, dangerous voice.

Glorfindel shrugged.

“Well, know that I shall not let you go alone,” Erestor said quietly.

“How touching!” a melodic voice intoned from behind them.

Erestor turned so fast that Glorfindel was afraid he would break his neck, the Chief Counsellor’s sombre features transformed as he laughed merrily and rushed to embrace the newcomer.

“THRANDUIL!” he shouted happily, “I am glad to see you safe!”

“I do not understand why you think me safe in a nest of Noldor!” Thranduil smirked as he embraced Erestor tightly before walking to Glorfindel and bowing with his hand over his heart.

Glorfindel repeated his gesture and asked him quietly, “Is all well in your realm?”

“It is,” Thranduil beamed, “Come, Glorfindel, even if we do not have Balrog Slayers, we still manage!”

Glorfindl smiled, Thranduil Oropherion was one of the few elves he was always glad to see, the handsome features and melodic voice soothing him like few things could. But, Glorfindel observed frowning, there was an aura of power and other worldly radiance about Oropher’s son now. There was an expression of deep wisdom in those green eyes. Glorfindel gasped quietly as those eyes met his own, he knew without a doubt that Thranduil Oropherion had travelled to Mandos’ Halls and defied the call.

“Is your Adar here?” Erestor queried.

“With Gil-Galad,” Thranduil wrinkled his nose, “It must not be a happy scene, but tell me Erestor, where is Elrond? He has my falcon in his keeping!”

Erestor said quietly, “He is in his study working himself to Mandos. I hope you have a better chance to drag him to the feast tonight!”

 

“I see no reason why the Noldor should have a sea port when they cannot in any case cross to Valinor!” Oropher exclaimed.

Gil-Galad felt like banging his head on the desk. It had not been even half-an-hour and Oropher had succeeded in nearly reducing him to tears. He spared Galadriel and Celeborn a scathing look. The two had done nothing but exchange flirtatious looks and coy smiles since the beginning of the council. His frown vanished as he considered them, his aunt was obviously happier and healthier than she had been for decades. Galadriel caught his stare and blushed before smiling giddily. He raised his eyebrows before turning back to argue with Oropher though he knew he had already lost.

 

Elrond held his head in his hands as he tried to put himself in a more cheerful mood. Gil-Galad had personally volunteered to come and fetch him if he missed one more meal or meeting. 

“Brooding, are we?” Thranduil leapt through the window and neatly landed beside him. Elrond watched with amazement as the Prince settled himself on Elrond’s study desk comfortably, his legs indolently placed in Elrond’s lap.

“You never use the door,” Elrond complained as he shoved Thranduil’s legs off him and got to his feet.

Thranduil shrugged before accepting a cup of tea from Elrond and remarking, “You look better.”

“You do not,” Elrond observed as he saw traces of fatigue on the other’s visage, “Were you injured?”

“Yes, I took a Morgul blade in a skirmish near our borders,” Thranduil said less self-assuredly, “I was near death, Thalion’s skill and Ada’s love pulled me back.”

Elrond hugged him whispering, “I am glad that you are safe,” he pulled back to scrutinize Thranduil more closely, “You need to rest for a few days, and I intend to make sure you do, atleast as long as you are in Lindon. You look different,” Elrond paused thoughtfully, “A bit like Galadriel, I suggest you rest under my care before you end up shrivelled like her!” 

Thranduil asked him, “Why halt your ministrations after I leave Lindon? You have never visited my home, Elrond, come with me, a change will do you good.”

Elrond sighed, “I cannot possibly leave here, Thranduil, and that too with the Sindar! Gil shall fry me! But I am grateful for the invitation.”

Thranduil pouted, “Do you know people will kill for an invitation by the Golden Prince Of Greenwood? And you say no so uncivilly! You are hopeless, Peredhil! My Adar’s right, the Noldor do not know what is good!”

Elrond grinned inspite of himself.

Thranduil changed the topic abruptly keeping up with his reputation for unpredictability, “Shall we get dressed for the ball? Ada and I have a bet regarding who will be the most stared at this eve. I vouch for myself, Ada bets on Celeborn and Galadriel.”

Elrond smiled, “You are likely to lose the bet, for Celeborn and Galadriel have been the focus of everyone these past few days.”

“Well, Ada will certainly win if I don’t make an effort to look good!” Thranduil said in a mock worried tone, “Come now, let us get dressed!”

Elrond found himself dragged to his chambers by the hurricane that was the Prince. He dressed hastily in his formal robes and accepted Thranduil’s assistance in braiding his hair, though he started to be apprehensive when the Prince began interweaving gems within the braids. But Thranduil, with his characteristic stubbornness persisted and there was nothing that Elrond could think of to dissuade him.

Then they started with Thranduil’s attire, which did not require a long time as Thranduil threw on a set of usual green robes and hastily braided his hair lightly into two thin braids above his ears away from his face. 

“Would you wear anything other than green?” Elrond asked him invitingly, “I have a whole set of ceremonial robes that Gil had ordered for me, though he failed to warn the tailors of my broader half-human measurements!” 

Thranduil muttered, “Wish I could, But Adar will not be happy and I don’t wish that.”

 

Gil-Galad watched appreciatively as Erestor was announced. The counsellor was clad in rich purple silken robes that highlighted his aristocratic pallor admirably. Erestor smiled at Gil-Galad’s hungry stare and took his seat to the King’s right. Gil-Galad possessively placed his hand on Erestor’s knee.

“We are quite eager tonight, are we?” Erestor teased him good naturedly.

“I really do not appreciate sitting through yet another ball that is probably going to end up in a brawl between Oropher and Amdir,” Gil-Galad sighed.

Erestor nodded bleakly. The Sindar nobles of Lórien were already squabbling with those from Greenwood. Amdir kept to the Noldor side, his son and Galadriel accompanying him. Lady Anoriel was not present, Erestor noted worriedly. 

“Where is Elrond?” Glorfindel, who had arrived just then, asked them, “Gil, you need to have a talk with him. He is becoming worse than Oropher in attending banquets!”

Gil-Galad sighed and murmured, “I will send someone to fetch him, I cannot leave now, the Númenorians are being escorted hither as we speak, I have to receive them and start the banquet officially.”

“Thranduil Oropherion, Crown Prince Of GreenWood, and Elrond Earendillion, Herald Of the Noldor!”the aides announced.

Gil-Galad eased back into his chair, his expression less worried as he watched Elrond laugh easily at something that Thranduil had said. Gil-Galad noted with pleasure that Elrond had dressed well for the occasion. His rose silken robes highlighted his dark complexion and through the intricately done up braids, small gems twinkled in the firelight. Thranduil was as resplendent as ever, but, Gil-Galad frowned, there was an inner aura that complemented the Sindar’s natural charms. Maybe, the King wondered thoughtfully, it might have been the brush with death that he had before the winter. Círdan had told him that it had been touch and go.

Gil-Galad watched the two elves walk towards the Sindar of Greenwood and strike up an easy conversation with Celeborn and Oropher. Gil-Galad noted the easy rapport that his cousin shared with Oropher. He raised his eyebrows, Oropher did not obviously stick to his Noldor hating policy at all times. Or it might be because of the presence of his son, Thranduil obviously had his father about his little finger.

Gil-Galad could not help noticing that Aldor had eyes only for a certain Balrog-Slayer. Erestor had tactically placed Glorfindel beside the human. Gil-Galad smirked at his bonded mate’s blatant meddling as the latter plied Aldor with tales about Glorfindel.

 

Thranduil asked his father, “Ada, would you like to dance with me?”

“NO,” Oropher said firmly, “I suggest you take young Elrond to the floor, my son, and leave us to our concerns.”

Thranduil willingly complied with his father’s instructions as he dragged an unprepared Elrond to the floor.

“You idiot!” Elrond muttered, “Amdir is here! Do you have any idea what he will conjure in his imagination?”

Thranduil remarked wryly, “Probably he will accuse me of being a prostitute! Adar might knock his nose off this time.”

Elrond opened his mouth but Thranduil whirled him about suddenly, causing him to almost lose his balance. He cursed the Prince as he clumsily righted his posture and fell into step with Thranduil again. 

 

Celeborn smiled indulgently as he watched Elrond glower at Thranduil, “Your son has been bested at his game, Oropher,” he said boastfully.

“Well,” Oropher said wickedly, “My son is young and hasty. He will learn to be more patient. Like his Adar!”

“Care for a dance?” Celeborn asked.

“Your lady will be mighty displeased!” Oropher pointed out. Galadriel was sitting with Amdir and his wife.

“She does not dance. Neither do I as you well know. But anything for my cousin,” Celeborn said gallantly.

Oropher wrinkled his nose, “Oh, no! He is at it again! Amdir and company will bay for our blood now!”

Celeborn turned to look at the floor. Elrond and Thranduil were in deep conversation.

 

“You say you can seduce anyone!” Elrond asked incredulously.

“Certainly!” Thranduil agreed proudly, “Let me show you.”

“How?” Elrond asked nervously as he watched a subtle change in those green eyes. 

“Quiet,” Thranduil said in a low, enchanting voice, “Listen to my voice, Elrond. Is it as melodic as the call of the sea? As deep as the song of your love? Tell me, what does it make you desire?”

Elrond sweated as he felt himself fall into the trap Thranduil had made for him. He could see Oropher and Celeborn look warningly at him. Erestor was shaking his head silently imploring him not to do anything stupid. Glorfindel and Gil-Galad were however smirking at the scene, a knowing expression in their eyes.

“Elrond?” Thranduil said silkily, “What use is there in hesitation? Are we not warriors? Do we ever hesitate?”

“I…,” Elrond cleared his throat, “I do not know what I want. But you are enchanting, Thranduil… and, well, most desirable.”

“Well,” Thranduil replied in his normal tone, “I proved it!”

Elrond shook himself to sensibility and said scathingly, “You are the limit, Oropherion!”

“So I have been told,” Thranduil bowed politely to him as the dance ended.

Close to them, Amroth, who had been dancing with a Sindar maiden frowned. He had to warn his sister about Thranduil’s unpredictability.

Elrond retired to the banquet tables while Thranduil danced with one of those maidens whose sole purpose in life was to be noticed by him. 

Erestor, Elrond observed darkly, was pulling Gil-Galad to the dance floor leaving only Aldor, Glorfindel and Círdan at the table. Sighing, Elrond took a seat across Aldor trying to be as far as possible from Círdan who sat on Glorfindel’s right.

“Lord Elrond,” Aldor smiled, “It is good to see you in a better atmosphere!”

“I agree!” Elrond heartily agreed, “The lady has not accompanied you, I take it?” 

Aldor shifted uneasily in his chair before murmuring, “No, only my counsellors have accompanied me. Travelling does not please her over much.”

They talked lightly about matters of trade. When the dance music ended and the ministrels started a slow, romantic tune, Aldor watched the dancers wistfully before sneaking a glance at Glorfindel. But when the elf turned and intercepted his glance, he hastily turned back to watch the dancers.

Thranduil was dancing with Erestor, Gil-Galad had opted out and stood nearby, chatting merrily to a counsellor, as he watched with mild disfavour his bonded mate dancing with the Prince. The pair drew admiring glances from the onlookers, their dancing skills supplementing their natural grace. 

“Lord Aldor,” Elrond said kindly, for he was well-disposed towards his brother’s race in general, “Do you fancy dancing?”

“Yes,” Aldor blurted, “I mean not much, only when required by state rules.”

“I would have taken you to the floor myself,” Elrond smiled as he saw the disquieted expression in the human’s eyes, he was reminded of Elros, the same insecurity and daring evident in Aldor’s eyes, “But Glorfindel is a much better dancer than I can ever be.”

Glorfindel sighed mentally seeing the hopeful expression in the human’s eyes. While he loved Aldor’s company, he certainly did not wish to dance a romantic air with him, not while Menelwen was dancing the same with Galdor. But since Elrond had named him specifically, Glorfindel had no choice but to smile, bow and extend his hand, which was readily accepted.

Elrond was now alone with Círdan at the table. He resolved to be quiet as he was sure that any attempt at conversation would ultimately end in a disagreement. A few moments of reflective mutual silence later, it was with surprise that Elrond heard the mariner clear his throat loudly to get his attention.

“My Lord?” Elrond queried politely, not wanting to argue. He shot a desperate glance at Celeborn, who was winking at him from the other side, to extricate him from present company.

“My foster son has suffered enough defeats and betrayals in his life, Lord Elrond. I hope that you would do nothing to cause him further loss,” Círdan said in a low voice. 

“And what makes you presume that I would do that?” Elrond asked coldly.

Círdan murmured, “I have lived a long time and I cannot but help seeing what is very evident regarding your feelings for Lord Erestor.”

Elrond did not reply as he appraised the other elf carefully.

“You do not need to worry about me running to Gil-Galad about this. I wish him happiness. Though I love both of them dearly, I wish Gil had married someone who could give him heirs,” Círdan paused, “But what has come to pass cannot be changed. And I hope that you understand and act accordingly.”

Elrond said waspishly, “Then you would not tell me so. For I have done nothing that would harm their marriage. Gil-Galad is my cousin, Lord Círdan, and I would never hurt him. My lineage may not be as pure as yours or his, but that will not make me reckless.”

Círdan said nothing as he twirled a goblet of wine in his hands, his gaze fixed on Erestor and Thranduil, who were approaching the table talking excitedly.

Thranduil stepped forward and boldly kissed Círdan on the cheeks before remarking, “Blue suits you well, My Lord.”

Círdan said embarrassedly, “You are kind, Ernil. I am glad to see you well.”

“Would you walk with me?” Thranduil asked softly.

Círdan complied and they left the hall together.

 

Erestor dropped into the seat near Elrond’s and whispered to him, “How goes it? You look angry, that is why I came over. I know you dislike Círdan.”

“Now it is not dislike anymore,” Elrond said sullenly, “It is hate; the evil, old sailor!” 

Erestor laughed saying, “Fine language, , mayhap a walk would ease your temper?”

Elrond decided against it, Círdan would probably skewer him, “No, would you grace me with a dance?”

Erestor got to his feet and extended his hand, “It would seem that I have more in common with you than with my dear husband! He dances so reluctantly that I have given up asking him.”

Elrond said nothing as he walked with Erestor to the dance floor, if he could not have Erestor’s heart, he would settle for these smaller pleasures whatever Círdan presumed. 

 

________________________________________

* * *

Thranduil hummed to himself as he strolled lazily through the gardens. His feet automatically carried him to the summer house. He smiled reminiscently as he thought of the last time he had been here. He lay down on the soft, damp grass and closed his eyes, the smile still on his lips. 

“Dreaming?” a female voice asked him softly. 

Thranduil opened his eyes abruptly. Above him, a hooded form towered.

“I was worried when I did not see you at the ball,” Thranduil sighed, “But tell me, are you here without your Adar’s permission again?”

Anoriel pulled back her hood and said nervously, “Yes, I wished to see you. May I sit down?”

“Wild grass is not the throne I would have you seated upon,” Thranduil said smiling, “But I do not have anything else to offer you now.”

Anoriel smiled and spread her cloak on the grass before sitting down on it, her unbound flaxen gold hair bounced in the breeze. Thranduil whiffed at her familiar scent and gazed at the stars peacefully.

“Adar has asked me to rethink about this,” Anoriel mumbled quietly, “He says I am too naïve for you.”

Thranduil smiled, “In what way? I certainly have never disobeyed my father’s orders and followed him secretly to Lindon! I should say I am the naïve one.”

Anoriel laughed weakly, before saying hesitantly, “He says you are much experienced in matters of the heart.”

“I have never loved before,” Thranduil said lazily, as he turned to watch her pensive features, “I guess he might mean the matters of pleasure seeking instead. The last time he deigned to talk to me, he all but called me a body-seller.”

Anoriel said nothing, his carefree words increasing her doubts.

“Lie down,” Thranduil said smoothly, though Anoriel could detect the steel beneath his calm words. It was not a request, but a command. She obeyed, she would get the truth of this matter whatever it cost her.

Thranduil started speaking in a low voice that had none of his usual haughtiness, “My mother left my father and me while I was yet a babe. But the short while she resided in the Havens, I was with her. Her brothers would rage at my father and me so. Obviously they thought that since I was a child, I would not understand it. They were grieving for their sister’s ‘rash’ choice and cannot be blamed that they vent their rage on me and Adar. But those words haunt me even now. My nights are restless because of those memories, their harsh words, her crying, my parents’ tearful parting and the letter from the Havens that informed us of her passing into the Halls of Mandos. I cannot endure sleeping alone, the fear overcomes me. While I was young, I used to sleep in Adar’s bed. But after I reached my awakening, we decided that I should have a separate room. Adar knew of my fear, so he asked me to take partners in pleasure. After passion, my exhaustion carries me into a dreamless repose. So, I guess, in a way that I am really a body-seller, as your Adar declares. But my heart is untouched and that is what I shall lay down at your feet for eternity. And my body, as blemished as it is, if you would have it.”

Anoriel replied quietly, “I do not wish to have ownership over your body and your pleasures, My Lord Thranduil.”

“Do not keep formality between us,” he implored as he rested his head on one hand to look down upon her.

“I had never wished to love for I have seen and deplored the havoc it plays on us,” Anoriel whispered as she looked into those jade green eyes, “I had hoped to marry into a political alliance and save my heart as my own. I had prayed to be spared the emotional upheavals that love is destined to bring upon an elf,” she hesitantly ran her fingers over Thranduil’s finely sculpted face, “Now I find that I have indeed lost my heart to one I had never expected to claim it.”

Thranduil mirrored her gesture, his fingers lingering over her soft skin, as he said reverently, “I am yours, heart, body and soul.”

She shook her head firmly, “I will not have you forego the needs of your body until we are bonded or atleast betrothed, until I am sure that I can allay your fears at night. Until then, you may seek pleasure where you will,” she hesitated, “though I wish never with a woman.”

Thranduil said solemnly, “Never have I lain with a woman after I have seen you. And never shall I again unless it is you.”

She smiled and said quietly, “You are an unpredictable enigma, Thranduil Oropherion. I would never have expected you to say those words.”

“Yet you heard me saying so,” Thranduil laughed, “I fear this is just going to be one of the many things I will do before you are done with me. Now up and leave, for if your Adar sees us now, he shall call me a seducer!”

“That you are,” she remarked as she looked into those green eyes, an electric feeling pulsing through her entire body, “May I ask of you something?”

Thranduil nodded easily as he laid back, his head nested above his arms comfortably as he looked up at the stars again.

“I wish to kiss you, just to know if I can stand your taste,” she continued wickedly watching his stunned expression happily. As he opened his mouth to argue, she swooped down her head and kissed him, his words unheard.

His lips were soft as were hers, but she noticed that he had firmly shut his mouth. She pulled away. He was right, her father would kill him if he saw them kissing.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he gasped, “And your father thought you naïve!”

She laughed as she got to her feet gracefully, “Oropherion, he was right. This was my first kiss.”

“Then I will need no aphrodisiac!” he said still dazed by her kiss.

She laughed merrily as she pulled her hood on and flitted away silently. He shook his head and laughed happily once more wondering how his Adar could have chosen so perfectly well. 

“A fine evening?” a quiet voice asked him.

Thranduil stopped laughing as Amroth’s figure emerged from behind the bushes.

 

Glorfindel asked Aldor concernedly, “Are you tired? I mean no insult, but you have arrived after a long journey.”

Aldor smiled, “No, My Lord, even though I am not an elf, I am not worn out by a few days’ riding and a couple of dances.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. They had danced continuously for nearly five songs. Except for Elrond and Erestor, who were still dancing without a care in the world, most of the other pairs who had stepped onto the floor with Glorfindel and Aldor had taken a break. Feasting and dancing would continue till dawn as was elvish custom. But Aldor was a human, and he did look weary. If Aldor turned up half asleep at the next day’s meet, the elvish nobles would snub him citing his human fallacies. No, Glorfindel decided firmly, it would not do to give into Aldor’s pleading eyes now.

“Well, ,” Glorfindel said pleasantly, “You may not be tired, but I am old and my body needs rest. I suggest you leave this ancient elf to his rest and secure younger blood for the next dance.”

Aldor looked up at him with concern and unhappiness, “I am sorry to have kept you from your rest, Lord Glorfindel! But may I escort you to your chambers now? In case,” he continued slyly, “You are too tired to find the way yourself?”

Glorfindel shook his head, “I am tired, but I will ask Erestor to take me to my chambers. Elrond will escort you to yours, My King. They have forgotten their duties with all the feasting!” He beckoned to Elrond and the latter unhappily stopped dancing and came over to them with Erestor.

“Escort your kin to his chambers, Elrond,” Glorfindel told him, “I am tired and would hurry to bed.”

Erestor cut in before Elrond could reply, “Aldor,” he smirked at Glorfindel, “Your room is the next one to Glorfindel’s. To the right. And Glor, I do not think it would inconvenience you very much if you were to direct him to a door a few paces away from yours.”

Glorfindel fumed as Aldor thanked Erestor with badly contained enthusiasm. 

“Now if we are done, Glor, I would not keep you from your rest. Go by all means, and soak your weary bones in your warm bed, silk soothes your skin like nothing else can,” Erestor offered, Aldor smiled nervously and Glorfindel groaned. Erestor was trying to make the situation worse.

Elrond caught on and said politely, “We bid Lord Glorfindel and Lord Aldor a good night. Now, we have a dance to finish.”

Erestor laughed and the two dark haired elves ran away to join those on the dance floor leaving Glorfindel with Aldor.

“Come,” Glorfindel growled. He had thrown away all pretence of being a good host as he thought of how he should make Erestor repent for this.

 

Thranduil got to his feet and bowed, “My Lord Amroth.”

“Let there be no titles between us as there are obviously none between you and my sister, my prince,” Amroth said stepping forward, “Have we not shared bodies once in Lindon years ago? Does not that merit informality, ? Moreover I wish to be on first name terms with an elf for whom my sister left her chambers risking her father’s wrath.”

“Before you ask,” Thranduil said quietly, “I had not asked her to meet me nor had she asked me to.”

“I trust you,” Amroth said solemnly, “But there are those will not.”

“What they will not know shall not hurt anyone,” Thranduil said smoothly. 

Amroth noticed that his eyes had lost all the warmth that they had held when the Prince had been talking with Anoriel. Now they were the cold eyes of a master diplomat, weighing his words carefully.

“They will not know,” Amroth conceded, “I will not bring disrepute upon my sister.”

“If having been seen with me is a matter of disrepute according to you,” Thranduil said silkily, “What will become of her reputation once we wed?”

“You are too confident about your alliance to her,” Amroth said dangerously, “Would you marry her against the wills of her guardians?”

“I would not wish her to be estranged from her family and her country no more than I would be parted from my King,” Thranduil said coolly, “But I know that we are in love and if your family would deny that, then you shall doom us to my parents’ fate.”

Amroth sighed, “Talk not thus tomorrow morning in council with my Adar and King. He would be displeased for he is already prejudiced against you. I wish you happiness for I want Anoriel happy and that she will find only with you. Whatever I can do to aid your cause in council, I shall.”

“Thank you,” Thranduil placed his hand over his heart gratefully.

“But,” Amroth hesitated, “I would wish you to be more discreet in your meetings with her. There are those who wish you ill. Do not give them a chance to hurt you.”

“I have a champion in Adar,” Thranduil said confidently, “He will protect me as he always has.”

“I do not disagree,” Amroth said smiling, “Though I do wonder what he sees in this untamed, wild spirit that is more feline than elven! But I do repeat my words : Caution.”

 

Glorfindel watched Aldor concernedly as they reached the chamber Erestor had assigned the human. Aldor was drowsy and barely awake as he held onto Glorfindel’s hand like an elfling. So vulnerable and young, Glorfindel mused. 

“’Re we there yet?” the young king murmured sleepily, “I am sleepy.”

“You are half-asleep,” Glorfindel said indulgently, as he opened the door and pushed his charge inside. 

He was reminded of the countless number of times he had guided Erestor and Menelwen to their nursery after they ended up half-asleep in his lap listening to his stories. Menelwen, his face darkened, the elfling he had sung to sleep, taught fishing, riding, swimming and even stiching, the young young woman whom he had watched over proudly at her coming of age, the hopeful maiden who had with the boldness of youth admitted her love for him, and now finally, he reflected sadly, had turned into a bitter hearted woman who despised him. Love changes hearts, he thought darkly, Menelwen, Elrond, Oropher, himself, they were all examples of how love could embitter elven hearts.

“Bed,” his charge pouted his eyes barely open. 

Glorfindel smiled inspite of his dark thoughts and led the young king to bed and removed the human’s boots and tunic. He drew up the blankets over Aldor and built a cosy fire in the hearth before settling himself in the armchair by the fire comfortably. There was a book on the small table beside the chair. Glorfindel idly picked it up, a note in Erestor’s hand fell into his hands from within the book.

“I know you will not return to your room, read this, until your human wakes.” 

Glorfindel cursed Erestor, but started reading the book. It was one of his favourites, a story about Elu Thingol and Melian the Maia. He had to admit, Erestor knew him more than he wished.

 

Elrond made his way slowly through the throng of intoxicated elves. Erestor had left with his bonded mate when Gil-Galad started vomiting following a drinking competition with Celeborn. Galadriel and Amroth had taken away Celeborn to his chambers after he passed out unconscious. But that was after Sindar pride had been established because Celeborn had drunk fifty pints of ale to Gil-Galad’s forty-five. Elrond crinkled his nose disgustedly, the whole place stank of a pigsty or worse, he thought, a dwarven dining hall.

“Peredhil,” a slurred voice called him, he turned scowling, it was an intoxicated counsellor of Amroth’s.

“Fetch us some wine,” the counsellor ordered drunkenly.

Elrond was about to retort when Oropher’s clear voice cut in, “No , there is no point in arguing with an intoxicated elf. Let him be.”

Elrond turned to face the Sindar King and bowed murmuring, “As you wish, My Lord.”

Oropher companionably said, “Would you mind escorting me till my chambers? I was afraid I would find none sensible to do so.”

Elrond laughed saying, “Come, My lord, let us leave them to their merrymaking and seek our beds to rest. For tomorrow, we shall both need our wits to ensure Thranduil his bride.”

Oropher smiled, “That is true. But tell me, Elrond, would you think upon my invite seriously?”

Elrond asked him quizzically, “Your invitation?”

“Has Thranduil not mentioned anything to you?” Oropher frowned, “I expect the wine had finally muddled his brains, of course, I told him that you were always welcome in the Green Wood. He had told me you were desirous of spending time away from Lindon.”

Elrond cursed the Sindar Prince in excellent dwarvish mentally, all courtesy Glorfindel’s tutoring, before saying to Oropher, “I would be honoured to visit your realm, My Lord. But I am not sure that Gil-Galad would agree easily.”

Oropher said dismissively, “I will talk with him regarding that. After all, I am not asking you to be the Herald of Gil-Galad, but merely as my son’s friend. I don’t invite you from a king’s perspective, but from a father’s perspective. Come with us and let your mind find tranquillity for a few days.” 

Elrond nodded. He wanted to escape from Lindon for a few days, it was more than he could bear with Erestor and Gil-Galad expressing their love openly before him daily. He liked Thranduil’s company. But the bad relations between Gil-Galad and Oropher would not help this plan.

________________________________________

* * *

Galadriel caught up with Elrond as the latter hurried to his study after breakfast. 

“Good day, Elrond,” she wished him as she tried to gauge his mood. She had waited for a chance to speak with him concerning the alliance with her daughter. He had been less melancholy after the Sindar Prince’s arrival. So she thought it best to approach him now before he fell back into his brooding.

“Good day, My Lady Galadriel,” Elrond squinted at her suspiciously, “We usually start our conversations without these pleasantries.”

Galadriel mentally wrung her hands. He was referring to their last mind-speak, when she had taunted him with his love for Erestor. 

“Elrond,” Galadriel said smiling, she knew she was acting, but she would do this for her daughter. She thought wryly, her father had always said that only she could charm even Fëanor. Now was the time to exert that charm. She continued tritely, “We have been at loggerheads for I envied you your love, which as I know, is pure. I was estranged from my husband then and had been bitter towards lovers in general. Forgive me.”

Elrond shook his head bewildered, Galadriel had never apologized to anyone in her life or so he had heard, he said disbelievingly, “No offense, my lady, but I do think that some of Celeborn’s ale fumed through your head too.”

Galadriel laughed, “Come, Elrond, lead me to your study. I would speak with you, but it is rude to keep you in the corridors.”

Elrond said firmly, “I am already running late for the council, as are you. We can talk on the way if you wish,” he did not add that he had no wish to have her in his study, his comfort zone and retreat.

Galadriel nodded and began, “I was thinking of my daughter’s happiness.”

“If you begin with that idea of a ridiculous alliance with me,” Elrond intoned, “do not bother to waste your breath. There is nothing to be gained in polluting your royal blood with my human taint. And Lady Celebrían will never forgive you for trothing her to an man who cannot even treat her with due love. Forget it.”

Galadriel said carefully, “I know that. I wish my daughter a truly happy marriage. I was thinking of something in which you could aid me if you wished so. Then we could drop the idea of your alliance.”

Elrond tilted his head to scrutinize her, there was a slightly smug expression on those features he disliked so much. But the idea of escaping from this torturous alliance plan heartened him and he nodded.

“Ernil Thranduil will make my daughter a good match. Moreover she is not averse to the idea. They will suit each other well, my husband will be happy to unite his blood with that of the royal lines of Elwe and Ingwë,” Galadriel said softly.

“You mean that I should aid you in spoiling the council today?” Elrond asked emotionlessly though inside, he was seething with fury. How could she expect him to lower to her base standards?

“Yes, put succinctly,” she said relieved that she did not have to spell it out for him. They had nearly reached the council room doors and she was afraid to carry this conversation on, but she had to reach an agreement with him now.

Elrond took a deep breath and said, “Your words are true, but they overlook a greater truth, My Lady Galadriel. Anoriel and Thranduil are soul mates, meant for each other, it is obvious to anyone who sees them together. Celebrían can find no happiness in an alliance with Thranduil than she will find with me. I suggest that you leave your daughter free to make her choice as you did all those years ago.”

Galadriel retorted furiously, “I should have expected nothing better from you, Peredhil! Unworthy heir to the throne of your fathers!”

“No wonder you wish you had a son to claim the kingship,” Elrond spat back angrily.

“No,” Galadriel snapped, “I merely wish you had made your brother’s choice!”

“Is there a problem?” Erestor’s smooth voice addressed them. With him was Glorfindel who watched the arguing duo warily. 

Glorfindel knew that Elrond was quick to anger. But Elrond rarely lost his composure in arguments. The scene before him was scary. Galadriel had clenched her fists in the folds of her dress and her eyes were fiery. Truly Fëanor’s kin, Glorfindel observed. Elrond looked worse, with his slightly wild expression and aggressive body language. He actually had his fingers over the sheath of his sword. 

“Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor said silkily, “Would you escort the Lady Galadriel inside and show her to the assigned seat?”

Glorfindel nodded, at present being in an angry Galadriel’s company seemed a better choice than being in an angry Elrond’s company. He offered his hand to Galadriel, who accepted it and walked with him stiffly.

Erestor asked Elrond worriedly, “What was it? The proposal for their daughter?”

Elrond nodded wearily, “She is a bit trying at times.”

 

They entered the chamber together. Elrond noticed that the Sindar from Lothlórien were all bedecked in their glittering ceremonial robes. Across them, sat the Sindar from Green wood, their muted greens and browns less overstated but none the less equally stately. The Noldor Council of Lindon except for Gil-Galad, (according to Erestor, Gil-Galad was struggling with yet another immense hang over) were seated directly facing the door, the King’s seat raised higher than that of the others. In the King’s absence, Erestor presided over the council in his position as the Chief Administrator of Lindon.Elrond and Erestor took their places to the King’s left and right, an empty seat between them.

Oropher was talking in a low voice to his cousin, Celeborn, who despite the scathing looks he received from the Lórien nobles, still stood by his cousin proudly. Thranduil had not yet arrived.

Galadriel, Elrond observed, was seated next to Amdir. On the Lórien King’s other side was his wife, who, Elrond noted sarcastically, almost resembled a statue, so still and pale. To the Lady’s right was seated Anoriel, who smiled at him nervously. To Anoriel’s right sat Amroth, whose countenance was dark and sullen.

Thranduil opened the door and let himself in as the bell tolled for beginning the council. He was dressed in a simple green tunic and brown leggings, his hair braided back into one thick warrior’s plait. As he walked past the Lórien nobles, Elrond could not help noticing the stark difference between the mere outer beauty of the Lórien elves and the tranquil fire that was Thranduil.

Erestor waited until the Prince had taken his seat to his father’s left and then said authoratively, “We are here to speak of the possible alliances between the realms of Lothlórien and the Green Wood. I call upon the royal scribe to give us the details.”

Galdor stood up and began his recital, “The proposed alliance of the Princess Anoriel of Lothlórien and the Prince Thranduil of Greenwood.”

Erestor said clearly, “We call upon those of Green wood to ask the Lady or her guardians any questions regarding her education, achievements and interests.”

Oropher stood up and bowed to Anoriel saying, “May I ask you a question, iel-nin?”

Amdir bristled at the use of familiarity, but before he could respond, Anoriel had risen and bowed to Oropher saying respectfully, “I am at your service, King Oropher.”

Oropher asked her clearly, his melodic voice, reverberating in the room, “Do you love my son?”

There was a stunned silence in the room. Those from the Green wood exchanged furtive smiles, Oropher’s bluntness was surpassed only by Thranduil’s. Many from Lórien were on their feet protesting the question. Elrond watched amusedly as Thranduil stared open mouthed at his father’s daring.

Amdir was on his feet and protesting, “You cannot ask my daughter such a question!”

Erestor intervened, “My Lady Anoriel,” he said quietly, “Do you find the King of Greenwood’s question offensive?”

Anoriel took a deep breath taking care to avoid her father’s and Galadriel’s eyes as she murmured, “No, my Lord Erestor.”

“Then you would consider answering it?” Erestor asked her carefully. Though he was prejudiced against Galadriel and Amdir, he could not risk their wrath. If he openly aided Thranduil’s cause, it would cause an unending diplomatic muddle.

Anoriel nodded nervously. Her brother’s hand closed over hers reassuring her of his support and love whatever her answer. 

She looked deeply into Thranduil’s eyes, those eyes that ensnared her so. For a moment it was as if there were only both of them, their heart beats mirrored, their souls bared before each other. Then, she could understand completely the elf she had fallen in love with. Every secret that he had carried was laid open before her. She knew, at that moment, that he would love her, honour her and die for her. And she realized, she would the same for him. They were soul-mates. She would leave her family if she had to. But she could not be parted from him. She smiled wryly as she realized that her Adar’s little bird was finally leaving the nest he had enclosed her in.

She said proudly, her fingers intertwined with those of her brother’s hand, her eyes never leaving Thranduil’s, “I love your son, Lord Oropher.”

For a moment there was a deathly silence in the room. Then the nobles of Green wood cheered loudly. Oropher and Celeborn exchanged relieved smiles. Thranduil, Elrond watched delightedly, looked as if he had run all the way from the Green wood to the Havens. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his handsome features betraying his tension.  
However, on the Lórien side, there was only hushed whispering. Amdir looked furious and he was talking to Galadriel in a low voice. Anoriel bowed to Oropher and resumed her seat gracefully, her bosom still heaving with nervousness. 

“Well done,” Amroth whispered to her.

“Without your support, I do not think I would have found the courage,” she murmured weakly.

“Love finds its own courage, ,” he said quietly, “Always.”

Erestor waited for the council to settle down before he began speaking, “Now my Lords, is there any other from Greenwood who would ask the Princess a question?”

Oropher shook his head.

Erestor resumed, “Then we ask those from Lothlórien to ask the Prince or his father any questions regarding his education, achievements and interests.”

Amdir nodded at Haldir subtly and the Marchwarden arose from his seat, his smug expression firmly etched across his handsome features. Thranduil arose and bowed to him and waited patiently.

“My Lord Thranduil,” Haldir began, “Would you please tell us of your illustrious heritage? Those from Lothlórien have heard much regarding your pure bloodlines.”

A slight frown creased Thranduil’s forehead, but he began none the less, “My father is descended from the line of Elwe and bears both the blood of the Falathrim and the Sindar. My mother,” he paused, “she is of the house of Ingwë. From her, I have Vanyarin and Eldar blood in my veins.”  
“You are rightly called the crucible of royal blood lines,” Haldir pronounced smugly, noting with relish the discomfort on the Prince’s face, “You are aware of the fact that the Princess of Lothlórien is descended from the Sindar royalty of Elu Thingol. She carries within her veins the blood of Melian the Maia.”

Thranduil nodded saying politely, “Indeed, marchwarden, I would be a poor son to my worthy father were I ignorant regarding the bloodlines of King Elu Thingol and Queen Melian.”

“Then you would not say that you wish to marry the Princess so that your offspring might bear the blood of Ingwë, Elwe and Melian all?” Haldir suggested.

Elrond watched with interest, the sudden flash of anger in Oropher’s usually placid eyes.   
Thranduil however retained his calm as he said coolly, “If the Lady accepts my hand in marriage and the Valar bestowed their blessings upon this union, then marchwarden, our descendants shall certainly bear the blood of all those whom you named.”

“But that was not the intention behind this marriage proposal?” Amdir got to his feet as he demanded.

Thranduil said calmly, “I am a prince, heir to my father. If I were not that, would you have proposed this, My Lord Amdir? We are bound by our duties to the throne to choose well and make the best of those choices, if not for us, for our people. It was in such a light that you offered me your daughter’s hand in marriage. I love her and she has said that she loves me. Your plan has succeeded, King Amdir. What more can you ask for?”

Haldir asked him smirking, “We have heard much regarding your, for the want of a better word, may I say ‘activities’.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows sardonically as he obviously waited for Haldir to explain. Elrond shook his head wryly, trust the Prince to be dispassionate about this. He caught Anoriel’s eyes. The lady was scarlet with embarrassment as she waited for Haldir to elaborate

“You have taken partners in pleasure indiscriminately,” Haldir said bluntly, “With a regularity that is immoral even for us long-lived elves.”

The Green wood contingent got to their feet as they took insult at Haldir’s words. Celeborn was watching Thranduil apprehensively. Oropher was trying to settle his angry counsellors.

“While an alliance between a King’s daughter and a Crown Prince will be a public affair, what goes on behind our doors is, I feel, private. I have no qualms in explaining my doings and their motives to those who should be concerned about it, including the Lady’s family. But I see no reason to do so before a council,” Thranduil said quietly.

Amdir got to his feet saying, “As the father of the Princess I have the right to demand an explanation, and I choose to do so now. Explain before this noble council whatever you would tell her guardians in private regarding this.”

Elrond felt a surge of sympathy for Oropher, who was holding tightly onto his cousin’s hand, grief etched on his face, the King had realized that there was nothing he could do to shield his son from Amdir’s question, for as the Lórien King had correctly pointed out, he had every right to demand an explanation.

“My Lord and Father,” Anoriel rose to her feet, “The Prince has explained his past to me and I see no shame in it. I do not think that there is a need to elaborate before this council what, as the Prince says, is strictly private.”

Amdir snapped, “My dear child, if there is no shame in it as you say, then why should the Prince be averse to explaining his motives to us? I seek not to embarrass him, as those of the Greenwood may take it. I am simply a worried father who seeks to give his cherished daughter to an elf who will love and honour her. I need to be sure that the Prince of Greenwood is such an elf.”

Erestor looked across at Elrond worriedly; the situation was fraught to become worse. 

A counsellor of Oropher stood up and retorted, “Then go search for an elf that suits you, King Amdir. Yours is not the only offer that our golden prince has had for marriage. We shall choose him a better family to marry into.”

Haldir smirked, “And why then was the Lord Oropher keen to take a bride from our realm if your ‘golden prince’ has had other offers?”

Oropher stood up, his face set grimly. Celeborn tried to coax him back to his seat, but he refused with a crisp shake of his head. Thranduil looked over at Elrond and Erestor, lines of worry etched on his face.

Erestor intervened, “The marchwarden’s words were disrespectful to the royal house of Greenwood, as the one presiding over this council, I would ask him to retract his words and render an apology to the Prince Thranduil.”

Haldir said silkily, “Lord Erestor, this partiality to the Prince from your side is to be expected, after all, you were probably partners in pleasure.”

Glorfindel got to his feet and said in a low voice, “I demand a duel to avenge this insult to Lord Erestor, marchwarden.” 

Amdir stepped in saying, “Lord Erestor is a warrior and must avenge on his own if he so wishes. I do not understand why Lord Glorfindel feels bound to answer to a remark on the High King’s bonded mate.”

“So, Peredhil, see, they are already at odds. My will shall be done; you tried to be noble in your morals. But nobility does not suit half-elves.”

Elrond turned to look at Galadriel; there was an expression of such supreme confidence on those features that he despised so. 

Erestor’s voice sounded above the din clearly as he spoke, “We are here to discuss the alliance between Green Wood and Lothlórien, not to debate as to who should avenge my honour. Let us return to the discussion. Lord Oropher wishes to speak and I request the rest of you to hear his words.”

Silence descended on the council as the King of Green Wood stepped forward, his grey robes swishing gently about his spare form as he walked. There was true nobility writ across his austere visage. Life had aged him; taken away much of his beauty, but it could not take away from him his grace. Elrond knew that he would never forget this sight as long as he drew breath, the sight of Oropher laying aside his pride so gracefully for the sake of his son. 

Oropher bowed and started speaking in his low, melodic voice, “My Lords, I am aggrieved that what should have been a mere formal agreement of this alliance between my son and the princess has become such. I wish no discord between my realm and Lothlórien. If the King Amdir does not wish to give his daughter’s hand in marriage to my son, I will not question him. Every parent has a dream for their child; I do not condemn Lord Amdir for his harsh words regarding my son. He is doing his duty as a father. I understand him, more so as I am a single parent.”

Elrond noticed a sudden change in the council. The elves, who had been brawling a few moments ago, were all seated silently, hanging onto each word that Oropher spoke. 

Oropher continued, “I do not wish to be estranged from my Sindar kin in Lothlórien. I wish to explain my reasons for seeking the princess’s hand for my son. It was not because of her illustrious blood lines. I may sound proud when I say this, and indeed I do feel proud of this, the bond I share with my son is deep. I know what his heart wishes. I felt that he would find his soul mate in the princess, and indeed I have been proved right. I would have him marry for nothing less than love. I have never married, but I have known love. And I am glad and grieved in equal measure that my son has known love now. But, my kin from Lothlórien, you need not fear for our attentions to your daughter. We have no claim upon her except that upon her heart. And in life, that does not amount to much. King Amdir, his family and the elves he rules shall not be dishonoured by my son’s association if they resent it so.” 

He bowed gracefully and walked out of the now silent room.

________________________________________

* * *

Oropher rested his head against the bole of a young orange tree, letting the tree’s song soothe him. 

“Ada?” Thranduil arrived worriedly, his features set in a frown, he had obviously been searching for his father, “There you are!” he smiled and walked swiftly towards Oropher. He flopped down on the ground, resting his head on his father’s shoulder before whispering, “Why did you leave? I was scared.”

“I wanted a dramatic exit, my son,” Oropher reached up to ruffle his son’s hair, “Why did you braid your hair thus, it reminds me of the ill times you rode out to battle,” he unbraided the golden hair swiftly.

“It was a battle of sorts,” Thranduil said wryly as he played idly with his father’s robes, “But do not change the topic, Ada, tell me, why did you leave thus? Celeborn had an argument with Amdir after that, Erestor and Elrond was hard put to restrain Glorfindel who wished to throttle Haldir.”

Oropher sighed, “I wish to tell you something, my son.”

Thranduil snuggled further into the warmth of his father’s robes before drawling, “Adar, have you finally agreed to take a mate? If so, I can have a sea side wedding arranged for tomorrow.”

Oropher said sadly, “No, my son, it is not something jest worthy that I wish to tell you. It is about your mother.”

Thranduil took his father’s hands in his and kissed them lovingly, his silent support saying more than words could.

Oropher began, “I was the seneschal of the Sindar when I met your mother. I was young, wild almost. She was older than me. As beautiful as the clear skies above our woods. It was love at first sight for me. I lost my heart to her when I saw her standing on the deck of her father’s ship off the shores of Beleriland. She told me later that it was thus for her too. We used to meet on the sea shore, Círdan and cousin Celeborn often aiding her to escape her guardians. Long walks and longer talks made up our evenings. Then I had to leave to lead the army against the enemy. I took up the sword and bid my good bye to her. She felt the same sense of desperation that I did, we made love that night, I remember it well, for it was the night of the first full-moon of that winter. It was on the seashore, with only the sound of the waves crashing upon the land, the moonlight shining down upon us. We lay together peacefully till dawn before she left for Círdan’s palace and I, for war. It was during the war that I learnt of her pregnancy. And the rest of our sad story has been sung far and wide by minstrels. The strange thing was, however much I grieved at losing her, as she left me with an year old elfling in my hands, I did not regret that night.”

Thranduil asked him quietly, “You made love only once, that night alone?”

Oropher said heavily, “It was so. My greatest mistake, I took her away from her family, I took you from her.”

Thranduil said incredulously, “Ada! You are a fool! I want you to take a partner to your bed! How can you remain celibate for so long? It does nobody good!”

“You do not condemn me?” Oropher asked his voice tight with emotion.

“Ada,” Thranduil looked up into his father’s eyes, “I love you. I would follow you anywhere. Even if you take a mad oath like Fëanor and his crazy breed, I would follow you to damnation.”

Oropher said wearily, “And the Valar forgive me if I have already doomed you.”

“How so?” Thranduil queried, “By spoiling me? That is not a serious sin, Ada. Anoriel actually found it touching that I was spoilt to the hilt.”

Oropher said sighing, “Anoriel loves you. If I had never been so determined to see you married, none of this would have happened.”

Thranduil said nonchalantly, “I did warn you about that before you embarked on this plan. Who cannot love me, Ada?”

Oropher said sombrely, “Amdir will not take it lightly that she admitted her love so bravely. I was proud of her.”

“So was I,” Thranduil smiled, “She is a firebrand, Ada, she will burn our forest into ashes if we anger her.”

“Our forest? Why our forest, my son?” Oropher asked curiously.

“Ada!,” Thranduil complained, “After hearing all about your love, do you really think I would settle for one less exciting? I am going to win her hand, at whatever cost. And I will certainly execute a kinslaying if Amdir tries to send her across the sea. I shall not give up her to any elf.”

Oropher pondered silently as his son prattled on about other topics. He knew that his son would stop at nothing to marry Anoriel. But at what cost? He decided firmly, he would make Celeborn his messenger and try to talk sense into that fool Amdir. He could not risk his son’s life becoming an echo of his own.

 

Aldor caught up with Erestor as the latter walked away from the room, a pile of parchment in his hands. 

“My Lord Erestor, could you spare a moment?” Aldor asked nervously. Whatever Glorfindel had said about the Chief Counsellor, Aldor found it difficult to believe. His counsellors were ill-tempered always after a meeting with Erestor. And Aldor could not blame as he too had experienced Erestor’s sharp intellect.

“Yes?” Erestor smiled warmly, “What may I do for you, lord Aldor?”

“I was wondering if you could enlighten me as to Lord Glorfindel’s whereabouts now,” Aldor hesitated, then took the plunge, “I wished to speak with him certain matters.”

Erestor said easily, “Of course,” Aldor wondered how such a cold mannered diplomat could morph into this warm, helpful creature, “Lord Aldor, I suggest you come to my study after the mid day meal. He will be there.”

 

Elrond and Glorfindel walked together towards Erestor’s study. The counsellor had arranged for a lunch there. As Elrond was keen to avoid Galadriel and Glorfindel, avoiding Aldor, they found this arrangement pleasing. 

“I hope Gil does not ask me to explain our defences to your kin again,” Glorfindel sighed, “If he does, you can take over. I’ll do your paper work,” he offered.

Elrond said fairly, “Aldor is wise for his years and he will understand if you tell him that his attentions are not wished for. Why don’t you do that?”

Glorfindel sighed, “I am no good at matters of the heart. I have a good mind to throttle Erestor for all the blatant encouragement he has given Aldor.”

They opened the study door, Erestor was singing to himself softly as he placed the dishes on the rug before the fire. Elrond took off his formal robes and draped them about a chair before sitting down cross-legged. 

“You have laid for four,” he observed.

“The Prince is coming,” Erestor replied as he set about filling crystal goblets with Dorwinion, “the wine’s courtesy him.”

Glorfindel asked concernedly, “Is Gil still grappling with that hangover?”

Erestor shrugged, “He was not in a very good temper when I went to look in on him after the council, he told me to inform the guards not to let anyone in till evening because he wished to seek counsel from Galadriel. I am tired of all the councils and the squabbling and did not wish to play the diplomat at yet another meal, so I arranged the repast here. I presumed that both of you were not likely to take the meal in the hall and asked you to come.”

Elrond took a sip of his wine and remarked, “I had never thought that a single marriage could cause so many arguments.”

“It will when it is Thranduil getting married,” Erestor said wryly.

Thranduil jumped in through the open windows lightly and took his place between Elrond and Glorfindel. 

“You look as if you have been in a mudfight,” Erestor observed as he passed on a goblet to the prince.

“I was with Adar,” Thranduil explained, “In the gardens, and I rolled about a bit in the grass.”

Elrond looked him over and said, “You are well?”

Glorfindel groaned, “We should never have let you become a healer.”

Thranduil shrugged, “I am well enough, though Adar is not. At the moment it is Haldir who will need a healer.”

“What happened?” Erestor asked curiously as he helped himself to a particularly large piece of the plum pie. 

“It seems Anoriel innocently left a cushion littered with sharp pins on his seat, and the result was, well, you know, I could hear the scream from the gardens,” Thranduil smirked, “So all those who challenged him to a duel shall have to wait for a month atleast, unless Galadriel patches him up.”

Glorfindel laughed heartily before saying sombrely, “She is nothing like her stupid, cowardly father. We used to be irritated so by his messages during the war.”

Thranduil nodded, “He used to send us message ravens. Thalion had them shot and gutted. Now we are selling them to the men and dwarves of Erebor. Of course, none of this should reach Ada’s ears. He’ll have Thalion and me skinned alive.”

Erestor said grinning, “You should be grateful that we Noldor are kinder towards the messenger birds. Else your falcon would have been inside a dwarf’s stomach now.”

Thranduil snorted, “My falcon would have better sense than to end up in a dwarf’s stomach! I trained it, after all!”

Elrond suppressed a smile and asked something that had been bothering him, “You met Anoriel after the council?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said easily, tugging away a piece of pie from Erestor, “She was nearly scared out of her wits after her father and Celeborn came to blows.”

“You do know that your father has promised the Lórien people that you will not pursue her?” Glordindel cautioned him worriedly, “Your father will be in a lot of trouble with Amdir if the latter hears of this.”

Thranduil shrugged, “What I like, I get usually. Now, I love Anoriel, so I mean to claim her hand in marriage.”

Glorfindel gave a low whistle as he appraised the Sindar Prince from above his goblet and said quietly, “You are confident. I wish we were all so in the matters of the heart.”

Thranduil smiled as he unsuccessfully tried to snatch the last slice of pie from a marauding Erestor and said softly, “My father has suffered for his confidence in love. Mayhap it might be my destiny also. But never the less I shall not give up Anoriel. Not even if I have to fight the entire army of Lórien!”

Erestor licked clean his fingers before remarking, “You will not have to do that, . You will just have to outsmart Galadriel for it is she who runs Lórien.”

Elrond nodded miserably, “She is evil, whatever Gil says!”

Thranduil said firmly, “Elrond, you are brooding again. This will not do. Come with me. I leave tomorrow.”

Glorfindel said quietly, “The prince is right, , you should stay away from Galadriel and her scheming for a few days.”

Elrond muttered darkly, “Gil will never let me go with King Oropher!”

Erestor said dismissively, “I will manage Gil. You do not have to worry about that.”

Thranduil said briskly, getting to his feet and brushing off the crumbs of food from his soiled tunic, “Then we are in accord. Elrond, tomorrow at dawn. Now, let me go and do some wooing.”

“You might change your tunic before you go,” Glorfindel advised.

Thranduil grinned saying, “It is well suited for I plan to woo in a more original manner.”

Elrond shook his head muttering, “I don’t want to know what your scheme is! Anyway it will be the talk all around tonight.”

Thranduil merely laughed and leapt out of the window.

Erestor got to his feet and looked out worriedly, but his frown disappeared as he remarked, “He has landed on his feet, the nimble rascal!”

A soft knock broke the ensuing silence. 

Erestor said blandly, “Would you answer, Glor? All the pie I ate makes moving difficult.”

Glorfindel squinted at him suspiciously, but went to answer the door. It was Aldor, wearing a richly embroidered black tunic and silken leggings that showed off his broad, muscular body to its best. Elrond suppressed a smile as Glorfindel tried to catch Erestor’s eye in vain.

“Lord Glorfindel,” Aldor said bravely, “Would you walk with me?”

“I..,” Glorfindel had always been bad at inventing excuses, a skill he should have learnt from Erestor, he thought furiously, “I am afraid that”

“That you have beaten him to it,” Erestor finished the sentence smoothly, “He was about to call on you.”

Aldor’s eyes widened as he asked breathlessly, “Was it so, Glorfindel?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel cringed on seeing the hopeful expression in the human’s eyes, “Come, let us not tarry,” he offered his arm to a delighted Aldor and walked out, taking care to make his displeasure known by banging the door behind them.

 

Thranduil looked about carefully. There were only a few elflings playing hopscotch. He smiled at them and proceeded with his simple plan. He climbed easily onto a window ledge and determinedly scaled the stone walls. He knew that the third floor housed Amdir’s family. Now, he wondered, he just had to find out which was Anoriel’s chamber. He pirouetted gracefully onto a balcony on the third floor and silently opened the curtains, and closed it with an alarming alacrity. He most definitely did not wish to watch Amdir and his wife make love. Wrong room.

He lightly jumped onto the next balcony. The door leading into the chamber was closed. He considered his options. It might be Anoriel or Amroth. Amdir was notorious for keeping his family together. He knocked softly. 

The doors opened and Anoriel stood before him clad only in a light, yellow gown that clung to her body. Thranduil quickly cupped his hand on her mouth as a soft scream betrayed her shock. He waited until her features relaxed and then lowered his hand.

She beckoned him in and drew down the curtains. As she walked across the room to lock the door, he looked around curiously. There were large half-finished oil portraits that were propped up against the walls. A large bed concealed by curtains stood to a side. There was a bright fire in the room. Thranduil wondered why she would need a fire during mid-day. It was hot.

She said apologetically, “I light a fire when I feel lonely. Shall I douse it?”

Thranduil said smiling, “It is of no consequence. But,” he looked around the room taking in the paintings, “you did not tell me of this marvellous talent of yours!”

“It is merely a past time,” she blushed lightly, “nothing to tell anyone about.”

He asked her, “May I see them?”

She said fidgeting, “If you wish. Why are your clothes so soiled? Never have I seen Thranduil Oropherion thus?”

“Climbing three floors does that,” he said nonchalantly, noting her stunned expression with relish.

“You scaled the walls!” she gasped.

“Yes,” he smiled, “I wished to see how you were faring and I did not want to displease your guardians.”

She shivered as she imagined him climbing on the smooth walls. If he had but slipped once!

“Are you well?” he asked concernedly.

She said weakly, “If ever you attempt this madness again, let it be for a more reasonable errand!”

He looked into her eyes and spoke softly, “What greater reason than this shall I have?”

She shuddered inspite of the warmth of the room. The elf before her would not rest until and unless he made her his. 

Thranduil walked to the paintings and said softly, “Would you give me a painting? I leave Lindon tomorrow at dawn and may not be able to see you for a few seasons atleast.”

She felt a sense of loss. She had known that they would be separated but that did not make her reconcile to the idea. How easy was it to fall in love!

“Anor-nin?” he asked her.

“What?” she said scandalized, “If Adar hears that!”

“Well, he might chop off my tongue,” Thranduil said matter-of-factly, “But that will not change the fact that you are my Anor, the sun in my life.”

She smiled like a fool before hastily collecting her composure and walking over to her paintings and pondering quietly. Most of the paintings she had done after meeting him figured him. Except, she remembered, for one. She drew out a long scrolled up painting and handed it to him.

He unscrolled it carefully. She watched his eyes show the depth of emotions as he greedily drank in the painting. Joy, love, respect and an ever-present regret flashed across his features.

Finally, he met her eyes and whispered, “I will value this forever. It means a lot to me that you understand.”

She smiled, “My prince, I have given my gift, what would you give me to help me pass my days without your company?”

He said uncertainly, “I am sorry, but I did not bring anything with me.”

“Would you give me something that you can right now?” she asked him seriously.

“Of course, Anor-nin,” he replied immediately, though I do not even have a single jewel on me now.”

Anoriel said quietly, “There is a jewel that I value and desire above all else, Thranduil, your hair, it has captured me so since the first time I lay my eyes on it. So rare and rich, give me but a lock of it to remember you and feel your scent each lonely day.”

Thranduil frowned saying, “If I had known my hair fascinated you so, I would have taken care to wash it!” 

She laughed, “You are vain!”

“Well,” Thranduil admitted, “I do have an overlarge ego at times,” he unsheathed a small dagger suspended from his belt and cut out a lock of his hair and gave it to her saying, “I wish there was something more precious I could give you.”

She asked him softly, “Would you give the kiss you denied me yestereve? I desire it so.”

Thranduil looked into her eyes uncertainly, but there was only love and confidence in them, he drew closer to her inhaling deeply of her fragrance. She was only a few inches shorter than him. He bent down to catch her lips with his reverently and carefully knitted his hands around her waist.

“I am not made of glass,” she whispered, “You need not, Ah!,” she gasped as his tongue delved into her mouth without any warning, she moaned into his mouth as the overpowering taste of pine, cedar, fresh mint and strong Dorwinion assailed her senses. His tongue explored her mouth thoroughly, taking its time with every nook and cranny. Their noses bumped causing them to giggle softly.

He withdrew his tongue and brought their foreheads together whispering, “I lose myself when I look into you eyes, Anor-nin. I cannot promise to wait.”

“Nor can I,” she said weakly as she rested her head against his chest.

There was a sharp knock on the door followed by a sharper voice, “Anoriel, Adar and Naneth are coming. Ask the Prince to leave.”

Thranduil pressed a chaste, lingering kiss on her forehead before whispering softly, “Till we meet again.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He bounded across the room, the scroll in his hand and leapt down fluidly. She rushed to the balcony to see him land heavily on Celeborn, who helped him up. She hastily shoved his lock of hair inside the bodice of her gown and gathered her composure to meet her parents.

 

Glorfindel watched Celeborn chastise the Prince. He sighed, if Thranduil continued his campaign, then Amdir might have to contend with a grandson out of wedlock. The Prince feared nothing and certainly would stop at nothing.

“Glorfindel,” Aldor’s voice brought him back to his reality, how was he going to turn down the human painlessly.

“ Aldor,” Glorfindel said uncomfortably, “I am sorry that Erestor has given you encouragement regarding me. But, I am the worst choice at the moment. A woman I love to death has rejected me, chosen another, become betrothed to him. So that will give you an idea of my lack of sense.”

Aldor said quietly, “I am young, Glorfindel. Yet, I am married to a woman I do not even understand, have heirs who are tutored by my counsellors in, rule a land which is yet to forget my father’s rule and after all that, I have fallen in love with you.”

Glorfindel said aghast, “You cannot be in love with me! It is merely lust, a desire for a fellow warrior, I understand that completely, please, Aldor, distinguish love and lust always lest you break a heart! Love comes only once to us, and we must be sure before we say thus.”

Aldor smiled sadly, “My race is shortlived, Glorfindel. We really do not have your time to distinguish love and lust. What our heart says is right, is what we take to be right. We cannot wait for elven time to make sure if the one we love is the one for us.”

“Yet, I am an elf,” Glorfindel pointed out, as he watched Thranduil flirt with one of Lindon’s warriors, “I live by elven standards. I wait for happiness.”

Aldor followed his gaze and remarked, “There are some even among elves who do not waste time, who live each moment to the fullest.”

Glorfindel sighed, “The Prince is an enigma amongst us, Aldor, the feyest of the fey folk, the dwarves call him.”

Aldor said, “Be it so, but Glorfindel, do you understand lust?”

Glorfindel nodded saying, “Yes, I control it well usually, but,” he looked into the dark, cobalt-blue eyes of the human, “I am barely able to suppress my lust for you. Take me not wrongly, it is merely the elven way to not hide our feelings when asked. I am not propositioning you. Lust is powerful, but it is not love.”

Aldor said boldly, “But I am propositioning you, Would you accept?”

Glorfindel said weakly, “You are young.”

“If I could fight a battle alongside you, can I not be an equal in this?” Aldor smirked.

 

It was dark. And empty. Where was he? He looked around, he was in a dungeon, stinking corpses and half-dead forms surrounding him. It was sickening. But in the midst stood shackled an emaciated, ragged, yet, noble figure, whispering harsh words of defiance. 

There was a sudden creaking and orcs entered the room. He gasped as they were followed by something more evil than anything he had seen or felt thus far. It was a shadow trying to break his soul, to pull him into the void. He backed involuntarily. 

But the figure did not notice him as it approached the shackled elf and asked in its high, harsh voice, “Will you tell me now?”

There was no answer, but a proud chin lifted in defiance. The voice laughed coldly as it said, “Then you shall know more of my dungeons, Ringmaker, and that will change your mind.”

As if on cue, the orcs pushed down the elf and ripped away his clothes violently before starting to whip him raw. The cries of the elf rose higher and higher, yet the persecution continued, until the elf stopped screaming and fainted from pain. The cruel voice laughed and jeered. There was a golden ring on its finger. In the faint glimmer from the ring, he could see the profile of the fallen elf.

“CELEBRIMBOR!” Elrond shouted loudly, rising to his feet.

“Are you all right?” warm hands pushed him down onto the chair where he had fallen asleep reading a book, “A nightmare?”

Elrond sighed, “I dreamed that he was being tortured in Barad-dur. I hope it was just a dream.”

Erestor poured him hot tea saying reassuringly, “It was probably the Dorwinion,” he took the open book from Elrond’s lap and placed it back on the shelf murmuring, “I had been about to retire when I saw the lights in the library. So I came to douse them. That was when you screamed and scared the wits out of me. Come, let us retire. You have a journey tomorrow at dawn.”

________________________________________

* * *

Thranduil knocked on his Ada’s chambers impatiently. 

“Come in, my son,” Oropher called. Thranduil barged in and shut the door behind him. His father was poring over official correspondence, an expression of abject boredom on his austere face.

“Ada,” Thranduil laughed, “I will do it later. Paper work does not agree with you.”

“You have already seen her,” Oropher scrutinized his son, “Is half the Lórien guard behind you?”

Thranduil said in a long-suffering tone, “Why, Ada, do you always expect me to bring trouble to your doorstep?”

Oropher smirked saying, “You are predictable, my son. Now, what is it? I was about to retire. The correspondence has made me sleepy.”  
Thranduil took out the scroll from within his tunic and handed it to his father, who curiously opened it.

It was an oil painting. Of Oropher and his son. Oropher remembered the day, it was Gil-Galad’s bonding ceremony. Thranduil was standing in a posture of aggression; his green eyes flashing with ire, the painter had truly captured the magnificent golden hair that clashed against his rich, green robes. Oropher’s eyes lingered over his son’s depiction awhile before moving onto his own figure. He wore light blue satin robes that made him look less world-weary. He was standing in a defensive stance. Whoever the painter was, they had truly understood his desire to protect his son from the world. He could not help noticing the stark difference between his son’s aggression and his defensive stance.

Thranduil murmured, “She is a good painter, is she not, Ada?”

“Yes,” Oropher said softly, “And she understands us entirely.”

 

Glorfindel whispered as they reached his chamber door, “This is folly.”

“Then there is much pleasure to be found in folly,” Aldor said laughing as he opened the door and walked in, “Glorfindel! This is wonderful!”

Glorfindel looked around, his cream wall décor had been despoiled by huge bunches of fragrant red roses stuck onto the walls. The bed, his very normal bed, was littered with rose petals and silken cushions. He made a mental note to stuff all the flowers down Erestor’s throat the first thing tomorrow. 

Aldor was saying awestruck, “You actually meant to talk with me about this! I had not believed it then.”

Glorfindel smiled saying, “ , I never lie,” but Erestor does liberally, he mentally added. 

Aldor drew closer and said huskily, “Let us then hide our desires no longer, My Lord Glorfindel.”

The intoxicating masculine scent of the man assailed Glorfindel’s sensitive elven nostrils and he hungrily captured Aldor’s mouth. The lips were not soft like those of elves. They were hard, hot and full. Glorfindel lost control as Aldor bit and nibbled at his lower lip passionately before nudging open the elf’s mouth with his tongue and thrusting inside. No elf had kissed Glorfindel thus before, with so much passion and strength. Glorfindel felt himself drown in the kiss. He forced his tongue to duel for dominance, but in vain as Aldor’s ale flavoured tongue roughly explored the deepest recesses in Glorfindel’s mouth. 

Glorfindel said hoarsely as they broke apart for breath, “Bed.” He was not sure that his knees could bear him any longer if Aldor continued this assault on his senses. He had never felt such strong desire for another. His love making was preferably slow and pleasant. But Aldor had no patience in this as in all else. Glorfindel realized that this would be rough and passionate in a way he had never experienced earlier. And strangely, he found himself excited by that.

Aldor complied and pushed him onto the bed before landing atop him. The human roughly pulled up Glorfindel’s tunic and shoved it away before swooping down to bite and suckle on the long, pale, elven throat. Glorfindel moaned in desire as the blood rushed to his loins. Aldor moved downwards, pinching and suckling Glorfindel’s nipples. Glorfindel arched with the sensation of exquisite pain and pleasure.

The human king gripped Glorfindel’s waist with one hand tightly before pushing down the elf’s leggings with the other. He greedily swallowed Glorfindel’s erection whole as soon as it protruded out completely. 

Glorfindel’s face convulsed as he gasped, “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I have waited a long time,” Aldor whispered before moving his mouth up and down Glorfindel’s erection. Predictably, Glorfindel climaxed quickly. He panted heavily, trying to clear his head as he wondered about humans’ impatience.

Aldor hastily disrobed and crept onto the bed beside him whispering, “Please, take me.”

Glorfindel suppressed a snort as he explained, “My impatient friend, you have already made me come. However, you are yet to find release. Take me.”

Aldor’s features betrayed his uncertainty as he said, “I cannot. I might hurt you with my impatience.”

“You might,” Glorfindel agreed, “I am an elf, and healing is one thing I can do faster than you. So it will not matter. Get the oil.”

Aldor frowned, “Oil?”

Glorfindel did not think he could manage without that. Aldor’s erection was broad and hairy. The musky odour almost made Glorfindel faint. As there would be no point in explaining about the oil to an ignorant, excited human, Glorfindel just prayed to the Valar that he be granted the strength to go through with this. He shifted onto his stomach and parted his legs expectantly. Predictably, Aldor pounced atop him, gripped his waist bruisingly and started thrusting. 

The first thrust was pure pain for Glorfindel; he tried to stifle a scream by biting onto his lips. It was as if he was being ripped into two from within. But the next thrust jabbed his prostate and he felt pleasure and ecstasy rising above the pain. By the fourth thrust, he was arching upwards to meet Aldor. They set a punishing rhythm before Aldor came with a scream and collapsed atop Glorfindel. 

Glorfindel watched the human drift asleep and muttered, “Impatient, young, fool. Could have made it last longer.”

He pushed the blankets atop the exhaustedly sleeping form and carefully limped to the bathroom, his legs apart as he walked. A narrow trail of blood flowed down his thighs. He shook his head disbelievingly. He had been taken hard, without preparation, causing him to bleed and yet, he did not regret it, what had his world come to?

Erestor had the sense to have a hot bath ordered. Gratefully, Glorfindel descended into the tub and closed his eyes. Humans, he had fallen in love with their many failings, particularly, their impatience. 

 

Erestor closed the door of their chamber behind him exhaustedly. He really wanted to do nothing more than take a week off from his duties. Maybe, he thought wryly, he should just drink a whole bottle of Dorwinion and render himself incapable. 

Gil-Galad was already asleep in their large luxurious bed. Erestor did not bother to light a candle as he wearily removed his robes and leggings before slipping on a loose night gown. He crept silently into the bed beside Gil-Galad, pulled up the covers to his chest. A persistent knocking on their door made him curse. 

Gil-Galad murmured sleepily, “When did you come?”

“Now,” Erestor sighed as he made to get up, “Couldn’t they have waited until dawn?”

“It is dawn,” Gil-Galad smirked, as he pushed the covers away and got to his feet, “Stay in bed, I’ll answer the door.”

It was Elrond, dressed in his riding clothes. 

He said cheerily, “Good morning, Gil. We are about to set out, thought I would come here and wish you farewell as none of you have thought it necessary to see me off!”

Gil-Galad threw on a set of robes and hugged his cousin saying, “We would never have thought so. I overslept and Erestor reached bed only now. Come, I will bid you farewell.”

Elrond nodded as the King swept past him. 

Erestor tiredly got to his feet and said, “I will come too, but do not blame me if I fall asleep on my feet.”

Elrond offered him his arm and they walked to the courtyard together. The Green wood delegation was already mounted. Gil-Galad and Galadriel were already wishing Oropher farewell. Celeborn was talking animatedly to Thranduil, who wore a smirk on his face. 

Erestor muttered, “The Prince has bewitched her, look to your left”. Elrond obeyed, A familiar hooded figure stood by the group.

Elrond said concernedly, “If Amdir catches her, the prince shall be in trouble.”

Erestor yawned, “Guess so, but Thranduil has never known fear. You take care, and keep away from trouble.”

Elrond hugged the slender form tightly whispering, “You too.”

Thranduil came over to take his leave of Erestor. Elrond stood back as the Prince hugged Erestor and kissed his cheeks. Oropher mounted his mare and asked the rest to hurry. He was keen to reach the road by nightfall.

Gil-Galad ascended the steps of his palace, but Erestor waited until the party was no longer discernible.

Elrond turned back once, and saw a lone figure standing still, a single hand raised in a token of farewell.

 

Aldor woke up and looked about the strange room disoriented, then the memories of the last night struck him like thunder. He sat up in breath, heavily breathing. He could not believe that he had done that.

“Up already, my friend?” Glorfindel’s voice asked him from the direction of the bathroom.

Aldor hastily got to his feet. There were blood stains on the floor, and on the bed covers. He gasped in silent shock before sinking to his knees.

Glorfindel entered the room, clad in a loose robe and asked him, “What is it, Aldor? Are you well?”

Aldor said in a small voice, “I hurt you. I made you bleed.”

Glorfindel frowned. Was this some kind of false regret that some dominating lovers had, come morning? Then again, Aldor did not seem the type. Which meant…

Glorfindel helped the limp form of the human into a chair and asked him quietly, “Was this the first time you made love to a male?”

Aldor turned a shade of adorable crimson before nodding his head once, “I am sorry, I thought it would be the same, I,” he looked up with anguished, tear-filled eyes, “I am really sorry!”

Glorfindel shook his head, “No, if anything it was my fault for presuming things. I thought you would know of the differences, never mind. I am an elf, and will be all right soon. Now, dress up, let us not be late for breakfast. As it is, I did not see off Elrond,” he turned to walk to his wardrobe, trying to suppress a wince as pain shot through his legs.

Aldor cringed at the Balrog Slayer’s discomfort and said plaintively, “Why don’t you stay there? I shall get whatever you want, if you tell me.”

Glorfindel nodded, he did not want to worry Aldor and moreover he was aching all over. 

“I am sorry,” Aldor mumbled again.

“Now,” Glorfindel said firmly, “No more of that, I just have to rest awhile.”

They left for the dining hall. Gil-Galad was talking to Galadriel and luckily did not notice Glorfindel’s discomfort. But Erestor did and smirking, he directed an aide to bring in a soft padded chair. Glorfindel shot him a sharp look, but said nothing.

“Elrond was sad you could not see him off,” Erestor remarked, “But he understands.”

Aldor looked up at the dark haired Chief Counsellor panickedly. But the latter continued buttering his slice of bread lazily. 

Glorfindel asked Erestor, “You look ill, should you not take a day off?”

Gil-Galad stopped his conversation with Galadriel and agreed, “That he should! Erestor, I officially decree a week off for you!”

Erestor glowered, “I will be bored to damnation!”

Glorfindel said unhelpfully, “Indeed, and rightly is that deserved!”

 

________________________________________

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Elrond rode alongside the warriors of Green wood, talking with them companionably about various matters. Thranduil and Oropher were at the head of the party, engaged in an easy conversation.

“They always ride that way,” the warrior closest to Elrond remarked, “Do you find that strange?”

“I find much about their relationship strange but beautiful,” Elrond said smiling. 

The warrior grinned, “Then Lord Herald, thus will you find Greenwood the Great. It is like its Prince, wild, untamed, feral yet alluring.”

Oropher called for a halt, they had made quick progress, their ride being swift and light. But now, it was night. Thranduil arranged the watches and supervised the settling down for the night.

Oropher approached Elrond, who had been staring at the sky pensively sitting cross-legged on the earth, his thoughts on Erestor. 

“Elrond,” the king asked, “I hope you do not find the company of my men unpleasant? You have been riding with them all day.”

Elrond moved to make space for the king, who sat down gracefully. He replied, “Your men are quite tolerant towards a Noldor peredhel.”

Oropher smiled, “You are tolerant than the most towards the Sindar, I suppose that accounts for the disposition of my men.”

Elrond nodded saying, “That might be so, My Lord.”

Thranduil walked towards them balancing a tray having three bowls of soup and a plate of fried chunks of venison in his hands. 

Elrond and Oropher accepted their bowls and the prince sat down next to his father remarking, “After a few days of laziness, riding all day makes me weary.”

Oropher remarked as he spooned soup from the bowl, “You practise riding almost every night, my son, unlike me and Elrond. How weary will we be then?”

Elrond choked on his mouthful of venison as he watched Thranduil look at his father in a scandalized manner. 

Oropher smiled saying, “My son, I am your Adar after all, few of your doings remain unknown to me!”

Thranduil tore a chunk of venison viciously saying, “You forget that we have a guest, Ada! You cannot be so indiscreet before him. What will he think of us?”

Elrond said helpfully, “I do not mind, anyway it is stale news.”

Thranduil snorted as Oropher laughed lightly, “You are both determined to embarrass me. Elrond, I cannot believe this of you! Siding with a Sindar King!”

“He has Sindar blood on his mother’s side, my son, and that is more than you have in your veins. You are only a quarter Sindar, I may remind you,” Oropher said charmingly.

Thranduil muttered something indiscernible before saying aloud, “I go to seek my rest now.”

He walked off in a huff, which was very reminiscent of Haldir’s gait, making Elrond and Oropher laugh again.

Oropher finally said as if to himself, “He does not let a day pass without making me smile atleast once.”

They passed a large convoy of Lórien elves the next day morning, Thranduil whispered something to Oropher and followed the Lórien elves. He did not return until mid-day, and then he had a smug, self-satisfied expression on his handsome face. 

 

Celeborn told Amdir bluntly, “You should accept the proposal when you still can do so without losing face before all of elvendom.”

Amdir retorted, “Would you have given your daughter to an elf who has as loose morals as the prince? Would you choose him over Elrond Half-elven?”

“Any day,” Celeborn said bitterly, “I will not allow my daughter to marry Elrond if t is my hands, but I fear it is no longer so. It is not that I do not esteem Elrond, but it is that he cannot love her, he told me so frankly.”

“Thranduil says he loves my child,” Amdir said quietly, “Yet I do not feel it safe to let her go.”

“Amdir, , we parents never feel the time right to let our children leave our nests. But it is time, time to let them fly away and build their own nests. We can bless them to begin their new lives or oppose them. But, love will not be ceased by our mongering, we will be estranged from our children if we do not support their choices,” Celeborn said quietly, “Thranduil is not Oropher, he means to win his love by any means. You will lose your daughter to him if you do not agree to this. Oropher knows this which is why he is so unusually calm in his dealings regarding this. Even he may not be able to control the fire of Thranduil if the prince is truly determined.”

Amdir nodded, “That is true, Thranduil is not an elf to be crossed lightly, I will do as you say, we shall begin the negotiations concerning the betrothal as soon as we reach Lórien.”

Celeborn said in a relieved voice, “That is wisdom, Amdir, for I had no wish to see you estranged from your daughter.”

“She would have chosen him over me?” Amdir asked stunned.

Celeborn said with a bittersweet smile on his handsome features, “Indeed, for there is no hold on a heart greater than that of love between two souls.”

 

Erestor watched with mild amusement as Glorfindel struggled to maintain his dignity with Aldor hovering about like a mother-hen. They had been lovers for two weeks and Glorfindel found walking harder with each passing day.

“I am sure that I can pour tea into my cup, my friend!” Glorfindel said exasperatedly, “Do sit down, you are making me nervous.”

Aldor complied unhappily. 

Erestor asked Glorfindel innocently, “Would you join me for a game of chess in my study tonight?”

Aldor looked over at Glorfindel fearfully. The Balrog Slayer gave Erestor a jaundiced look before saying blandly, “I have less boring things to do, my dear Erestor, than playing mundane chess with a half-wit.”

Aldor was shocked by someone speaking thus to the sharp counsellor. But Erestor merely smiled saying, “Indeed, if you devote your time to these less mundane things, Glor, you may not be able to ride again in the foreseeable future,” he bowed gracefully before walking away.

Glorfindel had turned a deep shade of pink before murmuring, “The wretch!”

Aldor asked him worriedly, “Maybe you know, we should not so often...”

“You are leaving soon,” Glorfindel interjected, “I would not wish these days together wasted.”

Aldor sighed, “You are impatient as a one of my kind!”

“Lord Glorfindel,” a young woman, Aldor remembered her as the hostess of the palace approached them, Lady Menelwen, he wondered why Glorfindel was upset, until the lady spoke coldly, “I thought not that you would stoop to such low morals as seeking comfort in the arms of a Second born.”

Glorfindel said in a tight voice, “Menelwen, you should not speak thus, .”

“It is not for you to tell me that,” she reminded him, “My Lord, you have lost all your claim on me that night when you refused to heed my plea. I simply warn you that seeking substitutes does not become one of your stature.”

Aldor stood shocked, on hearing the lady’s words. Even if Glorfindel had not accepted his love, atleast the elf had agreed to be with him until he left for Gondor. He watched painfully at the woman who had once loved Glorfindel and whom Glorfindel probably loved. He, Aldor, had been a mere body substitute. Glorfindel had not even considered him worthy enough to reveal that fact.

Glorfindel sighed as Menelwen walked away before turning to Aldor. The human’s face was set in a calm emotionless mask, but the tell-tale cobalt blue eyes revealed the truth, the pain, betrayal, mortification and infinite sorrow that the young king felt.

Glorfindel knew that nothing he said could erase that pain. He watched numbly as Aldor walked away, carrying himself with the pride of a man who knew he had earned his place in the world. Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, had broken yet another heart that loved him.

 

Celebrían dismounted gracefully from her steed, and rushed into her beloved Adar’s arms.

“My beautiful daughter is with me again,” Celeborn whispered into her ears, “I missed you so.”

Celebrían laughed saying, “You left me in Lórien and left for Greenwood. And you and naneth have been carousing about like lovebirds at Greenwood and Lindon, I heard long, evil tales about your adventures!”

Celeborn said sternly, his features flushed with mortification, as he wondered about the long, evil tales that had reached his daughter’s ears, “You behave yourself, young young woman, and go up to greet you naneth.”

“Later,” she said lightly, “I bear an urgent message to Anoriel.”

“Isn’t it your naneth important than the message?” Celeborn chided her half-heartedly. Galadriel, his mind pointed out, could have come down to greet her daughter.

Celebrían gave him a cool stare before saying bluntly, “You may have forgotten the wrongs she did to you, Adar, but I have not. I will not forget it. Sometimes, Adar, your love for her blinds you to her faults.”

She walked inside the palace, leaving Celeborn alone.

“’Bria,” a soft hand pulled her into an alcove, “I saw you arrive, was your journey fine?” Anoriel looked about warily, “Adar has forbidden me to come out of my chambers. But I could not stay there when Lord Celeborn told me you were coming today.”

Celebrían hugged her friend and whispered back, “I have a message for you from your Golden Prince, take it, before I meet my mother.”

Anoriel’s face lit up with joy as she giddily took the scroll from her friend. Celebrían smiled, happy for her friend even as she wondered if she would ever taste that joy.

 

He walked slowly towards Erestor’s study, knowing that within sat a person who had never judged him this far. He knocked once before entering. For a moment, he paused thinking of his worries as pride rose in him. His student, his friend and his foster-son, Erestor had made him proud in all ways. 

Now, he smiled involuntarily, Erestor had a dark smudge of ink on his pale left cheek, his hair was tousled about his shoulders, he bit an end of a quill, an elegant, thin, eyebrow raised as he pondered over an official parchment. He had not yet acknowledged his friend. Indeed, he had not even raised his eyes up from the scroll he was concentrating upon.

“You could be murdered if you are so inattentive,” Glorfindel remarked as he approached his friend’s desk.

“Glor,” Erestor drawled, “You should know that nobody will dare murder an elf who bears on his poor shoulders, the business of running a realm. The King assigns the best guards to my protection.”

Glorfindel murmured, “Ever the conceited one, are we not?”

Erestor chuckled, and waved him to a chair on the other side of the desk informing him, his eyes still boring the parchment he had before him, “There is a goodly hoard in the cupboard, help yourself. Goblets on the side table beside that map of Beleriand, goodness knows why we keep a map of a place long destroyed, there is a plate of biscuits on the sideboard. The aides seem to think that I am too thin and deliver food at times and between times to my study.”

Glorfindel went to the cupboard and selected a vintage from Green wood for Erestor, and hardy dwarves’ ale for himself. Erestor kept away from human and dwarven spirits, saying he could not stand their smell. So the only reason he kept a bottle of ale in his study cupboard was for warriors like Glorfindel and Galdor, another close friend.

Erestor accepted the proffered goblet with a nod of his head and leaned back in his much worn out chair and frowned, “Glor, you look terribly out of sorts.”

Glorfindel shrugged as he downed the entire goblet of ale he had poured himself. He discarded the goblet and took a heavy swig directly from the bottle. He was in a mood to get seriously drunk.

“Glor,” Erestor’s eyes had narrowed, “Is this your idea of an aphrodisiac? Trust me, you are likely to have a very sick night! Aldor will not come within five miles of you.”

Glorfindel mumbled darkly as he downed more ale, “He is not likely to come within five miles of me anyway!”

Erestor asked sharply, “Glor, what happened?” He took in his friend’s dejected figure worriedly. The last he had seen Glorfindel and Aldor, they had seemed the perfect couple of lovers. What had happened in such a small span of time?

Glorfindel did not meet Erestor’s eyes as he whispered sadly, “Menelwen.”

Erestor got to his feet and went around his large, cluttered desk to Glorfindel’s side and knelt before him asking softly, “What about her?”

Glorfindel said hoarsely, trying hard to prevent his voice from breaking, to prevent that unnatural constricting of his throat, to prevent the prickly, burning sensation in his eyes. But he failed as he slumped onto Erestor’s shoulder, burying his face in the warm, velvet, ceremonial robes and sobbing softly, “She came to me while I was with him. Said that it was unworthy to seek substitutes for pleasure, she could not see that he loved me. It broke his heart so, ‘Restor, there was nothing I could do, for there was no right on my side. I used him as despicably as I once made her wait for me. She had it in her heart to move on and seek true love; for I wish what she has now is true. She did not curse me, or blame me. But he; the pain in his eyes as he accused me silently; it was unbearable. I could say nothing to soothe his pain. I watched helplessly as he walked away; defeat, the only aura about his noble figure.”

Erestor did not say anything as he let Glorfindel pour out his grief, his hands mechanically stroking soothingly the blonde’s hair. But inwardly, he was confused. While Menelwen had every right to be angry regarding Glorfindel’s slow courting, she was not wise to get betrothed to Galdor so hastily. But the more he saw them together, the more he felt they were really in love. Glorfindel, he sighed, the Balrog Slayer had been always hesitant to express his emotions, preferring to hide under that mask of comfortable calm. Aldor, Erestor was sure, loved Glorfindel, which would make this a sticky situation, even if Aldor was not the chieftain of his clan.

Finally, when Glorfindel’s sobbing had subsided, Erestor said comfortingly, “Come, let me take you to your chambers.”

They walked in silence to Glorfindel’s chambers. Erestor helped the blonde elf into bed and drew up the coverlet over him.

“Stay with me,” Glorfindel whispered.

Erestor smiled, “Do you have to really ask, Glor?”

Glorfindel smiled back weakly, his puffed, red eyes spoilt the pretence however. He asked quietly, “Would you sing for me? The song you used to sing whenever the waves crashed over the docks of Círdan.”

Erestor sat by his friend’s side and asked him, “I thought you hated that song! Certainly you used to set me lines as punishment whenever I sang that within your hearing range.”

Glorfindel smiled, this time sincerely, as he said, “I hated nothing that you ever did, .”

Erestor stroked Glorfindel’s forehead as he began to sing in his low, rich, melodious voice,

Hearken to the waves, they pound against our lands,  
Mayhap they bring us a message from golden sands,  
Where we all came from, where we all shall go at the end,  
Oh, there the wear, the toils and the sorrow shall end,

Until then, my love, I shall endure in these toils,  
For then, my heart, I shall say what I could not ever,  
That I love thee far more than any other.  
So hearken to the waves and be heartened, my own.

He smiled and stopped singing. Glorfindel, the fierce, had fallen asleep like an innocent elfling. At moments like these, Erestor was sure that Glorfindel looked younger than him. He tucked in the covers more snugly about his sleeping friend and pressed a chaste kiss on Glorfindel’s forehead. Now he had to set things right. He walked out of the room determinedly.  
________________________________________

* * *

Elrond looked about the great, ancient trees of the forest. Sunlight filtered through the swishing leaves and dappled the ground. He sighed in wonder, never had he seen a forest so beautiful, even Lórien’s mallorn trees paled in comparison to these ancients.

“What think you of my father’s realm?” Thranduil asked him pride evident in his green eyes.

Elrond smiled as he said softly, “It is the most magnificent place I have ever seen.”

“Then your mother’s blood has done you some good,” Oropher muttered as he joined them, “The last time Gil-Galad was here, he complained of the falling leaves.”

They rode on more slowly through the hidden Great Forest Road that led from the High Pass of the Misty Mountains to Lake Town. Elrond greedily looked around at the fascinating plants and animals that he had never seen so far. More than once, Thranduil’s stallion snorted in impatience as Elrond halted Dance and stooped down to smell yet another flower. 

“My father has his fortress in the centre of these forests. To that side,” Thranduil pointed, “lies the stronghold of our trading partners, the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, and the Lake Men.”

“I wish to see the forests at night,” Elrond said wistfully, “’Twould be nice to sleep under the trees.”

Oropher remarked, “Then you shall find yourself in excellent agreement with my wild son. He roams these woods more than anyone else and knows all the secrets of these lands.”

Thranduil retorted smiling evilly, “Ada, Celeborn told me of a certain princeling of Doriath who used to wander in the woods of Lúthien. And apparently, Elu Thingol had to send a search party many times to bring back this princeling.”

Oropher said disbelievingly, “Celeborn told you that!”

“Along with many other tales,” Thranduil assured him, “Be prepared to hear them all with embellishments should you persist in calling me wild.”

Oropher wisely said, “My son, you are the sweetest, cutest, most adorable and obedient son anyone could hope for. Now, stop telling those tall tales.”

Elrond laughed as Thranduil sputtered in shock at his father’s adjectives and said hastily, “I much prefer ‘wild’ to all those, Ada.”

They approached the large stone fortress the next week. Oropher’s people came out to welcome their King and beloved Crown Prince. Oropher’s counsellors kissed the hand of the King and led him inside. Thranduil followed more slowly, ushering Elrond in, at the same time, hugging many of his father’s subjects, who rushed to greet him with flowers. Elrond mused that never had Gil-Galad or Amdir been the subject of such affection in their respective realms. 

Thranduil said quietly, as they followed the aides through the long, cool corridors of the fortress lit dimly by torches on the walls, “I missed home.”

Elrond replied, “You have been away for a few weeks, and you miss your land so. Think of Glorfindel who has been denied Valinor and sent back to Arda. Think of the Princes of Doriath, who have lost their homes in the Kinslayings. Think of the Noldor, banished from Aman, haunted by the doom of Finwë.”

Thranduil sighed, “That is true,” he brightened up suddenly saying, “THALION!” as a grey haired elf came to meet them. Thranduil hugged the elder elf murmuring, “Glad to see you have not seized power while we were away.”

The grey haired elf replied regretfully, “I had been planning to do that tomorrow, but your arrival has complicated matters,” he held Thranduil back at an arm’s length and inspected him sternly, “You are still weary, . I will not allow you to water the plants with the draughts I made for you as you sneakily did thus far. I am going to personally make sure that you drink even the last drop of my draughts,” Thranduil’s guilty smile did nothing to halt his lecture however. He said less severely, “You are lacking in manners after the stay in that Noldor realm, now, put on your hostly manners and introduce your guest to the long suffering healer of your father’s brat.”

Elrond bowed low to Thalion, “Elrond Earendillion at your service, my Lord. I have heard much of your healing skills and wish to learn from you, if you might find the time to teach me the arts of healing.”

“Ah! Elwing’s son,” Thalion dispensed with formalities and lifted up Elrond’s chin, “Much of your features remind me of her. And of Dior, too.”

“You know my mother,” Elrond asked wonderingly.

Thranduil snorted saying helpfully, “He knows countless people who have not probably even known of his existence.”

Thalion shot him a reproving glance before telling Elrond, “Yes, Lord Elrond. For I was the Chief Healer of Elu Thingol himself and later the chief Healer to Dior. I have patched up your mother countless times once she took to riding. But,” Thalion smiled reminiscently, “that count, however high it may be, is nowhere near the number of times I have patched up Ernil Thranduil.”

Thranduil dragged Elrond away from a victoriously smirking Chief Healer muttering, “Whatever happened to a healer’s discretion?”

The prince led Elrond to a well-furnished, plush room in the royal wing itself. 

“I can be comfortable enough in a guest suite, you know,” Elrond murmured as he took in the magnificence of the chambers he had been given.

“Elrond ,” Thranduil said seriously, “You are not only a noble guest to our realm but also my friend unfortunately. We cannot have you roaming about the corridors lost. Now,” Thranduil gestured to his right, “those are my chambers, the ones opposite to yours are Thalion’s and the ones next to mine are my Adar’s. You can come to me or Thalion should you need anything. I am afraid there are not many aides as there used to be at the royal service in Lindon. Adar insists that we help ourselves. And, do never even mistakenly knock on his door. He rests less than I would like him to anyway.”

Elrond nodded saying earnestly, “I would never do that, . Though the King has had nothing but friendly words for me thus far, I am still somewhat in awe of him.”

Thranduil chuckled, “That is the result of his Noldor scaring act! Come now, Elrond, refresh yourself and change your travel clothes and we shall go for dinner. Knock on my door if you are finished. I will retire and clean myself of the way grime.”

Elrond closed the door behind Thranduil and looked about the room. The large bed in the middle was supported by a magnificent cedar cot. Soft satin sheets invited him to sleep. He smiled to himself as he set to removing his travel stained wear, Coming to the Sindar kingdom had proved a good idea till now. He drew himself a warm bath in the marble tub and thoroughly washed himself. If he was to eat with Arda’s most alluring elves, he atleast had to show that he had made an effort! He chose a clean pair of ivory leggings and light brown tunic. Green and brown were the Greenwood colours and he did not wish to insult them the very first night of his arrival by wearing a Noldorin colour. He left his hair loose, except for two braids that held it away from his face and humming softly, he walked to Thranduil’s room and knocked.

Thranduil opened the door, his hands fastening a belt over his tunic as he complained, “I will need new tunics and leggings. For all of mine are too loose now.”

Elrond nodded saying, “Yes, you have indeed weakened much in body. It is as if you are not healed entirely.”

They walked to the small family dining hall quietly. Oropher was already seated at the head of the table, across him sat Thalion. Thranduil led Elrond to the seat on the King’s right before seating himself on the King’s left. 

An aide emerged from the flickering shadows of the torchlight with a large food tray and laid out the bowls of food before disappearing silently. Oropher reached for an apple and started slicing it quietly. Elrond wondered how the king could manage with so less sustenance. 

Thranduil reached for a pear, but Thalion and Oropher gave him equally sharp looks and he meekly cut a chunk of roast venison and started industriously eating it. Elrond selected a slice of lembas and cheese.

“My son,” Oropher remarked, “You seem fatigued. Was it the journey?”

Thranduil shrugged saying, “Maybe, Ada, I seem to have lost my appetite.”

Thalion interjected, “You should have drunk my draughts instead of pouring it into the flowerbeds outside your room!”

Elrond muffled a smile as Thranduil muttered, “I think it is so because of my Adar’s aversion to medicine and food. Some traits are hereditary.”

Oropher leaned back in his chair and surveyed his son and healer lazily above his goblet of wine. 

Predictably Thalion retorted, “If you had told me what exactly happened in that skirmish, I would have been able to prepare a more specific medicine.”

Thranduil smiled, but Elrond and Oropher noted sharply that this was not once of his usual smiles, there was a bitter quality to this and his voice was subdued as he replied lightly, “I prefer the Dorwinion to any of your draughts, you ancient healer,” he distastefully drank a glass of water all the while eyeing enviously the bottle of wine forbidden to him.

 

Erestor tiredly walked towards the training arena where Aldor was venting his spleen on an elvish warrior in a mock duel. Erestor grimaced, he had a tough day of councils and negotiations. Now, this was going to be the climax of his gruelling day. 

He nodded slightly to the elvish warrior who retired hurriedly. Nobody in Lindon was keen to be Erestor’s wrong side and with good reason. He had a Fëanorian temper if truly provoked.

Aldor acknowledged him with a deep bow saying, “Good Day, Lord Erestor.”

Erestor pasted an unwilling smile on his face as he responded pleasantly, “Indeed it has been a fair day,” smart lying had won him many a council meeting, “Would you walk with me?”

Aldor looked at the Chief Counsellor closely. There were dark circles around those wise eyes underling the elf’s high work load and the toll it was taking on him. And obviously, Elrond’s and Glorfindel’s absence had added to the already overworked counsellor’s duties. And from what Aldor had seen of Gil-Galad, the human was quite sure that the Noldor King was not an enthusiastic administrator.

“I wish to talk of Glorfindel,” Erestor began abruptly, he was worn out, and wished nothing more than to sink into a bed and not get up for a week, he really did not feel up to using his diplomacy skills in this discussion, “I know that I have no right to question your private relationships. Nor do I presume to do so.”

Aldor said quietly, “I would never dream of presuming that what I had with him was more than a temporary arrangement. It was on my insistence that he did it. So I do not blame him for what happened. If anything, I regret that I caused unwitting trouble to your sister. I offer my apologies.”

Erestor said firmly, “My sister and Glorfindel have ended their relationship. There is nothing between them now, except the lingering past which will fade with time. Glorfindel is not accustomed to expressing his feelings openly. That is why he always seeks to stick to the known, safe paths.”

Aldor said seriously, “I have never asked him to make any sort of commitment.   
Lord Erestor, since we have talked this frankly, let me tell you that I love Glorfindel. But I would never hurt him. I would not mind being used by him even for a lifetime. But I wish that he had been frank with me.”

“Frankness is an alien concept to those of the First Age,” Erestor murmured, “They take everything slowly and cherish each moment. It is not that Glorfindel intentionally meant for you to be hurt thus. He regrets it deeply and came to me after that conversation with Menelwen. I had a tough time coaxing him to find rest as he thought only of your grief at her words. Never had I in all our times together seen him thus broken, not even after the time he learnt that the Valar had denied him Aman.”

Aldor twisted his hands worriedly as he flinched at the thought that he had hurt his beloved Glorfindel so deeply. He could not even move his dry lips to answer Erestor.

“It is not your fault, Aldor,” Erestor said softly, “I have known him longer than anyone. And I know that he loves you, though I cannot say if that love equals yours. Maybe you should ask him that directly.”

Aldor nodded before saying tremulously, “He is still in his chambers, I hope?”

Erestor nodded and watched with a mixture of amusement, happiness and weariness as the human bounded across the gardens to the palace. 

An aide, who had been following them at a discreet distance, approached him and said, “The traders from the Havens have assembled in the hall. They await you, My Lord Erestor.”

Erestor reluctantly straightened his drooping shoulders and trudged back to the council hall. If only Gil-Galad had chaired the meetings that the King should chair, then Erestor could have had a respite.

The aide respectfully continued, “My Lord, after this you have to meet Prince Amroth with regard to the winter games to be held in Lothlórien, then you have to make an appearance at the ball that the King is holding in honour of Lady Celebrían’s arrival. Then you have a midnight appointment with the Chief Healer of the palace to make sure that the miruvor is of good quality. Then…”

Erestor growled, “All right, all right! I am working yet another night! I give up.”

 

Oropher asked Thalion fearfully, “He is not yet healed, is he?”

Thalion shook his head quietly. He could practically feel himself drowning in the strong emotional current of fear and sadness that emanated from the King.

“He has been to Mandos and back,” Thalion sighed, “I doubt that he can be healed by any on Arda. Only Valinor can repair the damage.”

“So they have begun, my son’s trials and I am helpless to protect him from the wickedness that abounds. Ingwë’s letter should have been obeyed, mayhap now too it is not too late,” Oropher said despairingly knowing well that it was late. His son would not suffer a parting. 

“He is strong, Oropher ,” Thalion said reassuringly, placing his hand on Oropher’s. 

“Elbereth save him!” Oropher said in a trembling voice. 

There was such a lost expression in his green eyes that Thalion, not for the first time, feared that the King had a gift of premonition. The healer shoved aside his thoughts and helped his friend to the royal chambers.

 

Thranduil mixed a sleeping draught in a glass of honey and downed it quickly. He was too weary to seek pleasure tonight, and all he wanted was a good night’s sleep. But the nightmares of his childhood would assail him again; he had resorted to a draught to prevent alerting his father, who was a very light sleeper. Oropher was already too much worried. And to make matters worse, there was Elrond, who was apparently searching for victims to try his foul sleeping draughts on, according to the tales Thranduil had heard at Lindon. 

 

 

“Our daughter seems happy,” Galadriel observed as she looked up at her husband from the book she had been reading. 

Celeborn stood before her, arrayed in a muted green tunic and leggings, his handsome features accentuated as his hair was neatly braided into a single plait. He had been about to go out with his daughter for a walk.

“I guess so,” he said carefully, “Mayhap she has found someone.”

Galadriel nodded sagely, “That may be so, husband, but the King and Amdir have decided on an alliance and what more than a marriage between his house and that of Lórien to strengthen it forever?”

“It would not be a marriage even in the least meaning of that word, Galadriel!” Celeborn retorted angrily, “You know well what folly you commit even if Amdir and Gil-Galad are ignorant of the truth. Yet you have taken this decision. I will not interfere as long as ‘Bria does not suffer. But if she utters a single word of regret, then wife dear, I will not be accountable for my actions.”

He walked out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him leaving Galadriel with her thoughts and fears. 

Elrond Peredhil, she knew well, dreamt only of one elf day and night. Her daughter would not find happiness in his arms. Thranduil of Greenwood, she surreptiously tried to touch the Prince’s mind, but some power stronger than hers blocked her. She sighed, the Prince could be her biggest adversary in the coming days.  
________________________________________

* * *

Aldor closed the door behind him quietly, but it was still not quiet enough to not rouse the sleeping form in the large bed. 

“Aldor,” Glorfindel sat up disbelievingly.

“Glorfindel,” Aldor approached the elf and knelt before him, “I am sorry for hurting you thus.”

“To know love is to be hurt,” Glorfindel said sadly, “You have been hurt more than me.”

“Would you rather that we had never started this?” Aldor asked him quietly, “Do you regret this?”

Glorfindel looked down at his brave lover, there was a weary acceptance in those cobalt blue eyes. It must have taken the human a lot of courage to be so frank with him. Courage that he did not find in his heart. He was a coward, had been one his entire life. He shook his head firmly, enough of his life had been wasted on waiting and regretting. Now it was time to live life the human way, without regrets.

He placed his hands on Aldor’s shoulders and kissed him slowly. The human stiffened for an instant, but then seemed to lose himself to the moment as he greedily delved his tongue into the elf’s mouth. Glorfindel felt himself drowning in the kiss. He smiled; it was ironic that he, who had been so old fashioned in matters of courting, now actually loved being kissed to asphyxiation by a passionate human. 

Aldor rolled over him and straddled his hips before laying claim to his lips again. Glorfindel ran his fingers lightly over the human’s neck causing him to squirm like an elfling, before muttering, “It tickles, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel laughed softly before doing it again.

“Tonight,” Aldor said nervously, yet determination evident on his face, “I give myself to you. You have yielded to me all these days. I leave tomorrow. Before that I wish a souvenir of our time together.”

Glorfindel tilted his head as he considered the change in the usually brash, impatient young human, there was more to it than met the eye, “If you wish so,” he acquiesced finally, “But don’t complain if my pace puts you to sleep.”

Aldor said adoringly running his hand through the elf’s golden locks, “I want this. And be assured that I will cherish every moment of this.”

Glorfindel said laughing, “Then, my handsome lover, you shall learn the virtue of patience.”

He bent over and slowly pulled apart Aldor’s robe exposing the tanned skin inch by inch. He ran his nails over the already tensed nipples and felt them become taut under his fingers. Aldor groaned and thrust forward impatiently. Glorfindel shook his head fighting laughter, if he did not get on with it, Aldor was likely to lose his limited patience and claim him, for so near completion was the human.

Glorfindel dipped his fingers in his hair oil and applied it over his member. Though Aldor seemed too excited and lust fogged to remember that it was his first time, Glorfindel had not forgotten. He gently claimed Aldor’s mouth and duelled in a battle of tongues. Confirming that Aldor was too involved with seizing control of their kiss to notice anything else, Glorfindel slid a finger into the human’s entrance. There was a reflexive tightening of muscles around his fingers as Aldor gasped and broke away surprised by the sudden, new sensation. Glorfindel determinedly captured the human’s lips again and added one more finger. Aldor bucked in pain. Glorfindel’s fingers brushed his prostate and he moaned in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. 

Glorfindel withdrew his fingers and asked him quietly, “Are you in pain? I promise it will go away.”

“Every moment with you is a pleasure, Glorfindel,” Aldor said hoarsely, as he gripped the bed covers with his fingers tightly. 

Glorfindel entered the human in one swift move, sheathing himself completely. Aldor bit his lower lip until he bled as his body tried to accommodate to the sudden invasion. Glorfindel moved slowly, holding back his lust in order to pleasure Aldor. But the human thrust frantically in his need and climaxed with an incoherent cry, “I love you, Glorfindel.” 

Glorfindel reached his own climax and he said something he had never told an elf before, “And I love you, Aldor, king of my heart.”

They exhaustedly wrapped their limbs about each other and fell asleep.

 

Thranduil pouted at his father. They were seated at the breakfast table. Elrond was talking to Thalion about some healing herb or the other. Thranduil had used the chance to beg his father to come out with them, for he planned to show Elrond a few of his favourite places in the forest today.

“My son,” Oropher said firmly, “As a King, I have higher priorities than prancing about in the woods!”

“Ada!” Thranduil begged shamelessly, “It is your only son asking you. Can you not spend a day with him?”

“My son,” Oropher began.

Thalion muttered to Elrond, “The Ernil is the most spoilt elfling I helped raise.”

“Ada, do you not love me enough to take a respite from your duties a single day?” Thranduil said predatorily, for he knew that his father could never resist that argument.

“That is low, my son,” Oropher sighed, he looked over at the smirking Thalion and said defeatedly, “I will meet my counsellors tomorrow, do inform the Lord Counsellor. My son, now that I am at your disposal, tell me where exactly in these woods are you going to drag us to? In case, we get lost, Thalion might have to send the search patrols out.”

Thranduil leant over the table and kissed Oropher on both cheeks saying delightedly, “I love you, Adar-nin.”

Elrond watched them wistfully. Oropher had given up his happiness, his wishes and his dreams for his son’s sake. But neither Earendil nor Elwing had done that. They had both chosen to value their dreams above the lives of their children. And so had Elros, Elrond thought bitterly, though his twin had less choice as Gil-Galad, Galadriel and Círdan had virtually blackmailed him into becoming the King of Númenor. Elros had been torn between choosing mortality and remaining with Elrond. But Galadriel had ‘counselled’ him and he chose a mortal life leaving Elrond alone. Elrond reflected that none had loved him enough to give up their wishes for his sake. And maybe, none ever would.

Thranduil led them to a small lake a few miles away from the fortress. The tall trees shielded the lake from the hot sun and kept the water cool. Elrond dipped his feet in it tentatively after removing his boots, the water was too cold for his preferences. Oropher sat down cross-legged, leaning against the trunk of a mighty tree. Thranduil removed his tunic and leggings and dove into the water splashing Elrond and Oropher. 

“Join me,” he said as he surfaced after well over a minute. The sunlight made the water droplets on his golden skin glitter like jewels, Elrond noted abstractedly. 

Oropher said, “Nay, my son, I am too comfortable here to move my weary bones into the water. Elrond, , you join him. But do not complain to me if he acts like an elfling.”

Elrond removed his tunic and leggings and slid into the cold water. He felt the goose bumps rising on his sensitive flesh immediately. The warmth of the sunlight and the cold water made him pleasantly drowsy and relaxed.

“This is as divine as the Dorwinion,” he murmured to Thranduil, who laughed saying, “Then I shall have to spoil it, , what say you to a water fight?”

Without any further warning, Thranduil dove and pulled Elrond’s legs ducking him completely in the water. Elrond retaliated furiously for he hated anyone sneaking up on him. He held down Thranduil’s head in the water for a few moments before letting go. His fingers curiously developed a will of their own as they slithered through the golden mass of wet hair in their grasp. Elrond frowned, but had no time to think of it as Thranduil toppled him and in one swift, feline move, straddled his legs. Elrond scowled and tried to regain his balance, but the prince was too watchful an opponent. 

Thranduil cocked his head smugly saying, “You have lost, Elrond, say so and I will let you up.”

Elrond scowled again as he retorted, “You ask for an admission of defeat from me for a water fight that you began without a warning?”

Thranduil leant over him so that their faces were scant inches apart and said softly, “Would you ask for a warning from the orcs, Elrond? Is every game not serious for us warriors?”

Elrond did not reply as he stared into those deep, green eyes that penetrated his own. He unconsciously reached to finger a strand of golden hair plastered to Thranduil’s cheek. Thranduil bent closer so that their noses touched. His eyes held surprise and doubt as they regarded Elrond’s flushed features. Elrond half-parted his lips his nostrils invaded by Thranduil’s scent. 

“OUCH!,” Thranduil lost his balance and fell disgracefully into the water. Elrond straightened and made for the shore hastily, his cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment. He had done this before Oropher! 

“ADA!,” Thranduil complained indignantly rubbing his bruised side as he swam to the shore, “That hurt! Why are you practising your stone throwing skills on me?”

Oropher said laughing, as he held out a towel to a still blushing Elrond, “I had no wish to see my only son charm a Noldor half-elf before my very eyes, my son!”

Elrond mumbled, “My Lord, it was not his fault, indeed it was me to blame. I..”

Oropher placed a hand on Elrond’s shoulder and said conspiratorially, “Yes, indeed, my son is not to be blamed, for it was your beauty that has enchanted him so, Lord Elrond. If I had not been so jaded, mayhap, I too perhaps would have tried to charm you!” he laughed at the stunned expression in Elrond’s eyes before murmuring, “My son, you deal with this; for now, I need to go back to my mundane life!”

He walked away quietly, the traces of a vanishing smile still on his lips. Oropher was troubled, there was more than mere friendship and sexual attraction between his son and Elrond, they seemed to have a deeper bond. It was almost as if, he shook his head firmly, no, Thranduil loved Anoriel and Elrond loved Erestor. But yet, he could not help feel that there was something he had missed.

Elrond hissed angrily, “You should not have done that before your father!”

“So, would you not have cared if it had not been before my father?” Thranduil asked him quietly, as he paused donning his tunic. He had been quite stunned by their sudden attraction himself. While he found Elrond quite handsome even before their friendship started, he had never had an intention of charming him. For one, he had an oath to his father regarding virgins. And then, after their friendship strengthened, Thranduil had found more pleasure in that, which, he was quite determined not to spoil by fickle lust.

Elrond turned away from those green eyes and took a deep breath, Thranduil’s scent once more invaded his senses. 

“I did not mean my words to insult you,” Thranduil said sincerely, “We shall leave this behind us and go on.”

“I love Erestor, yet I find myself attracted to you,” Elrond breathed softly, “I suppose it must your famous irresistible charm that makes me feel thus. I am sorry, but I cannot lie that I don’t wish to be …”

Thranduil sighed, “Let us not talk of this now, Elrond, for I am too confused about my feelings that way. I think Adar knows of this and does not worry, for he left us alone. Come, let me lead you to a garden where we will find the tastiest blackberries.”

They spent a few more hours in the forest, trying to keep the conversation flowing. But it was a tough effort as Thranduil was worried about the situation. He could not help stealing a glance at Elrond each time he remembered the handsome flushed face with lust-dilated eyes and parted lips. This is not worth risking your friendship, he told himself firmly, You know very well how self-judgemental he is. As a friend, you are supposed to sooth his emotional turmoil, not add to it. Thranduil sighed; he had not taken a partner in pleasure since before the battle. It had been a long time. Maybe he should seek an man tonight. That might curb any desire he had for Elrond.

Elrond darted nervous glances at the Sindar Prince as they walked to the fortress slowly. In no situation before had thus an uncomfortable silence fallen between them. Perhaps he should apologize, he thought uncertainly, though he was not sure if the Prince was truly angry with him or merely confused.

Thalion watched the silent duo approach the fortress. Oropher had told him of what had happened in the woods. The healers’s eyes lingered on Elrond. Thalion had lied earlier to the young elf, for Elrond Peredhel did not resemble Elwing or Dior or any of his Sindar ancestors. He was a living echo of the ill-fated White Lady of the Noldor, Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin, sister to Turgon the Wise and Fingon the Valiant. Thalion felt a foreboding rise, something warned him that Elrond Peredhel would suffer more than she did.

 

Erestor wearily sealed the last scroll of the day. It was near midnight. He wanted nothing more than to soak his tired bones in a warm bath. He got to his feet and snuffed out the candles. Exiting his study, he locked the door and walked through the long, deserted corridors. Even though Glorfindel had taken charge of Elrond’s military duties, Erestor still had to contend with the administration, the policy making, the endless councils and the day to day affairs of the realm. He trudged slowly; it had been two lonely months. He missed Elrond’s company, their easy conversations. He missed Thranduil too. 

A soft sobbing halted his self-sympathetic thoughts. He listened sharply. The sound came from one of the ladies’ knitting rooms. Erestor curiously walked to the door. Don’t, you fool, his mind warned him, do you wish yet another sleep-deprived night? Erestor paused, maybe he should just retire to bed, solving the mysteries of nocturnal sobbing-souls was clearly not his domain. But, he thought uneasily, what if it was his sister? He had been worried for her since she had begun courting Galdor. He opened the door softly. A figure, slumped in a knitting chair, held its face in its hands and cried inconsolably. 

Erestor could distinguish only the bright blonde tresses of the woman in the dark unlit room. Thoughtlessly, he uttered the name of the only blonde-haired woman he was on good terms with, “Anoriel?”

The figure looked up with a startled gasp. On seeing him, she got to her feet quickly and bowed, “I apologize, My Lord. I will leave immediately.”

Erestor could now distinguish the beautiful features of Celeborn’s daughter, he murmured apologetically, “Lady Celebrían,” he retreated slowly towards the partly open door, “I am sorry for trespassing. I was on my way to retire to my chambers when I heard the sobbing,” he bit his tongue cursing himself, where was his tact when he needed it?

Celebrían lit a candle and rubbed away the tears from her face whispering, “No, I am glad you found me. I must go to my chambers or Adar will be worried in the morning.”

Erestor mentally wondered why the Sindar were so over-protective of their offspring. But he bowed politely and extended his hand to Celebrían saying, “May I escort you thither?”

She nodded and took his hand. Erestor wanted to ask why she had been crying. But he did not trust his mouth tonight. It seemed to have foregone all diplomatic skills. 

“Will the Lord Elrond come the next month?” she asked fearfully.

Erestor asked surprised, “Why do you ask? Nay, he will come only after the Solstice.”

Celebrían said tonelessly, “My mother and the King have decided our betrothal on the first day of the Autumn.” 

Erestor paused walking for an instant. He had not even known about this! Why had Gil-Galad not told him even the slightest gist of his secret meetings with Galadriel? He needed to tell Elrond of their plans. Maybe he should tell Thranduil first. The prince might be able to break the news to Elrond less abruptly. Erestor walked back to his study. He had to send a messenger to Thranduil before dawn.  
________________________________________

* * *

Elrond was roused from his sleep by a muffled scream. He sat up suddenly, his fingers gripping the dagger underneath his pillow. He took in his surroundings; he was alone in his room in the royal wing of the fortress of Greenwood. Had he been dreaming? 

The scream sounded again, this time less loud; he had not been dreaming, it was from Thranduil’s room. He got to his feet and walked to his door and opened it. The torches that lit the corridor flickered dimly. He knocked on Thranduil’s door and then cursed himself, what if the Prince had company? What if the sounds he had heard were the sounds of pleasure? He retreated quietly, and had reached his own door when Thranduil’s door opened. 

“Elrond?” The prince enquired. 

Elrond turned to look at him. The prince’s normally cleanly brushed hair was tousled. The handsome features shone with sweat. Elrond had almost started to apologize for the intrusion when he noticed the red rimmed eyes of the prince.

“What happened?” he asked as he approached Thranduil again.

“Nothing,” Thranduil said uncomfortably, trying to offer a weak smile.

Elrond raised his eyebrow archly and Thranduil mumbled like an elfling, “Bad dreams. Sorry if I woke you up.”

There was something about Thranduil that made Elrond scrutinize him closely. He detected an emotion that he had never before associated with the prince; fear. There was hidden fear in those green eyes. 

Elrond asked softly, “If you wish, I will prepare a sleeping draught for you, or wake your Adar.”

Thranduil shook his head, “Nay , draughts never work for my nightmares. I have had them all my life. And do not wake my Adar, he will be worried. I am once again sorry for disturbing your rest,” he began to move towards his own door, “Elrond,” he paused, “Would you, I mean, if you do not mind, could you stay with me tonight?”

Elrond smiled at Thranduil’s sudden insecurity and took the prince’s hand in both of his own and said, “What are friends for, ernil?”

They entered the Prince’s bedchamber and Elrond moved to the large couch saying wryly, “I was mortified that I had interrupted your night of pleasure! Thank The Valar, I would never have lived it down.”

Thranduil settled himself on the bed and leant against a post murmuring, “I gave up pleasure before the war, Elrond. Though,” his face brightened, “’twould have been worth it to see your face had it been that!” 

Elrond smiled saying, “Indeed, though I would not be surprised. After all the Sindar are not known for celibacy.”

Thranduil patted the bed saying, “It will hold the two of us without complaint.”

Elrond raised his eyebrows remarking, “It might be better to keep a distance betwixt us, for I would not wish my celibacy endangered!”

Thranduil said bluntly, “Then you speak not your mind, however, I am too tired to endanger your virtue. Do feel free to shift to the comfort of my bed, Elrond, if you wish.”

Elrond smiled at the characteristic bluntness of speech. Thranduil was right, he was still pondering over their moment of revelation in the pond. Did he really desire Thranduil? Elrond Peredhel had never desired anyone other than Erestor in his long life. So what did this mean?

Thranduil had drifted to sleep, and was now tossing about restlessly on the bed, entangled in the bed covers. Elrond fastened his sleeping robe more securely and joined him on the bed. As he lay down next to Thranduil, arms enveloped him automatically, and Thranduil’s restlessness ceased. The protective embrace of the Prince reminded Elrond of the nights Elros used to embrace him while they were at the house of Maedhros. A long lost peace descended on Elrond as Thranduil snuggled closer. They drifted into reverie together.

 

Anoriel sat with Celebrían and patted her arm consolingly. 

“I cannot believe Adar agreed to this,” Celebrían said furiously, “I thought that he atleast would support me!”

Anoriel said soothingly, “I am sure that he will. Maybe he has not been given the news yet.”

Celebrían said bitterly, “No, Anoriel, they have set the date,” she dissolved into pitiful sobs. Anoriel held her until exhaustion lulled her to sleep. Then she settled the covers on Celebrían and left the room.

Erestor had locked the study door for the second time that night when he heard footsteps in the corridor. Cursing in dwarvish, he turned to face the intruder. 

“Lord Erestor,” the lady said sweetly, “May I talk with you?”

Erestor sighed, “As you wish, my Lady,” he opened the study door again, “Come in, let us make ourselves comfortable.” 

He lit the fire again and bade her sit in a comfortable chair across his desk. He remained standing for he was afraid that he would fall asleep if he sat down. 

Anoriel said hesitantly, “I am sorry to have sought your advice at this late hour. But I have no other to ask. Does Elrond Half-Elven love my friend, Lady Celebrían?”

Erestor sighed again, before pouring himself a goblet of wine, he looked at Anoriel questioningly, she nodded, so he poured her a goblet and said diplomatically, “I am not privy to Lord Elrond’s heart, my Lady.”

Anoriel said softly, “I know only a few people outside my father’s realm and I trust fewer among them. I have always trusted your words, My Lord. I trust you and Elrond. Now that he is not here, I thought that I might receive counsel from your lips.”

Erestor observed acidly, “Even when Elrond is here, it is wiser to receive counsel from me, Anoriel, for he is the herald and I am the counsellor.”

“I alter my question, Erestor, can the Lord Elrond love Celebrían?” Anoriel asked quietly.

“No,” Erestor said bluntly, and continued hastily seeing the fear in the other’s eyes, “I mean that Elrond has lost a lot in his life, So he is naturally slow to form relationships. Introverted, not unlike me, I guess. You asked for frankness, Anoriel, and this is what I can say frankly. But I do not know if he may love her. He is noble and compassionate. I hope for their sakes that they love each other.”

Anoriel nodded saying, “Yes, Erestor, I too wish that, but I know it to be in vain, for Celebrían does not have any love for Elrond. Indeed she hates his half-human heritage. She would rather fade than bode with him.”

 

Erestor walked into Gil-Galad’s study trying to hold in his temper. Celebrían’s issue had unsettled him more than he cared to reveal. And he had lost yet another night’s sleep. He was definitely not in a good humour.

“Ah! Erestor, you are early,” Gil-Galad greeted him cheerily. He was seated at his desk. Galadriel sat at the window seat of the chamber. She nodded to Erestor before gazing out of the window again.

“I wish to speak with you regarding certain urgent matters, Gil,” Erestor murmured. 

Gil-Galad waited expectantly. 

Erestor grit his teeth, Gil-Galad was not about to send away his beloved aunt. He had to use some diplomacy here. 

“My Lady Galadriel,” he said emotionlessly, “I have led your daughter to the Healing Halls after I found her sick yesternite.”

Galadriel stared out of the window saying nothing, but a cold tendril of her thoughts permeated Erestor’s mind saying, “You expect me to leave you on such an errand?”

Erestor held onto whatever control he had over his temper and shut Galadriel out of his mind firmly. Círdan had taught him something else than diplomacy. The slightly puzzled look on her face as she found herself blocked from his thoughts gave him a grim satisfaction. He turned to face the King.

“I wish to talk with you on private matters that concern us,” he said dangerously.

Gil-Galad said imperturbably, “And do tell me, my love, I am all ears. I am sure Galadriel would not mind us discussing anything.”

Galadriel smirked lightly.

Erestor asked coldly, “Then am I to assume that she is not averse to being present while we engage in acts of pleasure?”

Gil-Gald gaped, and there was shock mirrored even on Galadriel’s features, she bowed to the King, nodded to Erestor and left the room hastily. The Chief Counsellor had won this around.

“What was that about?” the King asked curiously, “I have never seen you thus, my love!”

“Elrond. What is this I heard from the Lady Celebrían about you arranging his marriage with her?” Erestor asked angrily, “He is not even here!”

“My wish is his will, my love!” Gil-Galad said reassuringly, “He does not have any objections.”

“Have you asked him directly?” Erestor queried coldly.

“No,” Gil-Galad admitted, “But he has not yet taken a lover. His affections are not occupied, nobody holds his heart. I must do the best by him as Oropher has done for his son, for Elrond is as dear to me as a son.”

Erestor fell silent as he swiftly reviewed the whole situation in his mind. Celebrían did not love Elrond. Galadriel hated Elrond. And Celeborn did not wish for his line to mix with half-elven heritage. More importantly, Celeborn had no pleasure in an alliance that would give his daughter no happiness. Elrond, Erestor was sure, was in love with someone. Was it anyone so depraved in his eyes that he refused to divulge the name? 

“I still think you should get Elrond’s consent before you finalize this,” Erestor said firmly.

Gil-Galad said breezily, “’Restor, Galadriel, Amdir and I have finalized all these, all we need from Elrond and the lady is to be present for the ceremony,” he chuckled at his own words, “Now,” he sobered, “I have a long list of complaints from Sigthor, Glorfindel’s second, who is managing the affairs of that refugee valley. I think we should send them to the Havens. Círdan may not be pleased, but the refugees might acquire sea lust and leave for the west.”

“Many are young,” Erestor pointed out, “And may not wish to leave for Valinor. And many are bound by the doom of Noldor.”

“We cannot afford to bear the brunt of Celebrimbor’s folly. I am hard put to maintain Lindon. Amdir cannot take in any more elves. Oropher will definitely not take in Noldor smiths,” Gil-Galad said, “They are a burden to our realms.”

“They are excellent craftsmen and sword smiths,” Erestor said seriously, “If we take the responsibility, then I am sure they will learn other skills in time. We cannot call them a burden.”

“You are my Chief-Counsellor,” Gil-Galad said, “And I trust your council, but the council of Lindon will not spare our resources to aid the Eregion smiths.”

Erestor leant forward across the table, the fire of Fëanor himself lit in those black eyes as he said quietly, “I will go to the valley and strive to make you proud of the refugees sheltered there.”

He pressed a kiss to the stunned King’s lips and walked out of the room. 

 

Glorfindel tried to reason with his friend, “’Res, you cannot leave Lindon to Gil’s mercy! He does not know the basics of administration. Why are you so taken up with that refugee camp? Gil is right, you know. We cannot afford taking them in. We are a prosperous realm, I agree, but we do not boast of endless resources!”

Erestor turned from his packing to look at his friend and said wearily, “Glor, I wish I did not have to go. But I cannot in good conscience betray the two thousand refugees deprived of a home and a lord because we were not able to defend their city. Women, children and mere craftsmen, I cannot abandon them to their fate. We failed them once in Eregion, their lord failed them. Do we not have a duty to them now?”

Glorfindel said gently, “I understand, but what do you hope to do alone in a wild valley under the Hithalegir?”

Erestor leant his head against Glorfindel’s warm chest and sighed, “I do not know, Glor, I do not know. But,” he straightened up, “I will do whatever I can. Círdan and you taught me to take ever the path my mind dictates. And I will not forego your teachings ever. Mayhap this is destiny.”

Glorfindel and Gil-Galad watched as the Chief Counsellor of the Noldor High King rode away to his mission on his powerful black stallion. Gil-Galad had been able to spare only two guards as escort. So it was with fears that they bade him farewell. Both Glorfindel and Gil-Galad would not know rest until the first letter from the valley arrived apprising them of Erestor’s safety.

Glorfindel watched Ebony gallop ahead of the other horses. Against the full moon, the horse and the rider were sketched in profile. 

“This is indeed his destiny,” Glorfindel murmured before breathing a prayer to Elbereth.

 

________________________________________

* * *

Thranduil woke up slowly, the songs of the birds greeting him. It was dawn.

“Awake, are we?” a half-amused Elrond asked him.

Thranduil smiled seeing Elrond’s condition for he had tangled the bed-sheets around themselves so badly that Elrond was not able to move his head away from the Prince’s chest. 

A pair of eyebrows shot up on Elrond’s face as he growled, “I am glad to know that my predicament pleases you, my prince.”

“There is a lot about you that pleases me. However,” Thranduil pulled away from Elrond and sat up in bed, “I must join my father to watch Sunrise.”

Elrond yawned drawing the bed covers over himself again, “Do so, I am going back to sleep. Wake me in time for breakfast.”

Thranduil drew on a light robe over his sleeping gown and made his way to his father’s chambers. 

“Ada,” he greeted cheerily as his father opened the door.

“You seem well rested. Dare I ask who your partner was yesternite?” Oropher commented as he took in his son’s appearance.

“Elrond,” Thranduil said smugly, noting the worry that flashed in Oropher’s eyes, “Do not worry Ada, he came to watch over my sleep after my nightmares disturbed his rest.”

Oropher sighed, “Whatever, my son, promise me that you shall not blatantly charm him, if word reaches Lórien, then both you and he will lose your brides.”

Thranduil kissed his father’s cheek lovingly as he replied mischievously, “I will not be blatant, Ada, there are other ways if I seek them.”

Oropher gave his son a long-suffering look before walking to the balcony to watch sunrise over the tree-line.

 

Erestor nudged his steed into a slow walk; they were separated from the escort. He resolved to wait for them. It was a moonless night and they were traversing the wild roads. Ebony seemed uneasy and even Erestor’s practical mind felt tinges of evil. He halted riding; he would wait for the soldiers. 

Suddenly, he heard a cry of surprise followed by a muffled scream. He dismounted from Ebony and placed his ear upon the ground. There was a steadily increasing thud approaching them, he got to his feet quickly, orcs! He leapt onto Ebony and harshly nudged the flanks urging him to a gallop. Now the air was rent by yet another scream and the guttural jeering of the orcs, Erestor breathed a prayer, his escort had met their deaths. The sound of the orcs became louder, they were pursuing him swiftly. Soon the harsh jeering gave way to the low, pitiful whining of the wargs, orcs on wargs, Erestor grit his teeth nudging Ebony to a full gallop. 

He had been flying across the wild treeless terrain for an hour with the pursuit quickening behind him, when Ebony suddenly tossed his head restlessly. Erestor listened to the wind, the wolves howled from all directions. He had been hemmed in neatly. He slung his bow over his shoulder and nocked an arrow. There was no more escape. Ebony snorted with fear, Erestor ran his fingers gently down the mane, trying to reassure his mount. The first of the wargs came into sight, its jaws dripping with fresh blood, elven blood, Erestor noted abstractedly. He loosened his arrow, it flew true and the great brute fell with a guttural moan.

“One for you, My Beloved Lady,” he said as he glanced up at the stars above. 

Ebony whinnied and shied as the orcs and the wargs surrounded them, their evil eyes glittering in the darkness. 

Erestor bent down and whispered in Ebony’s ear, “Fear not , remember that you are the best in elvendom. Did you not stand proudly even against the Ulairi?”

Ebony stopped tossing his head and stood proudly. The orcs charged cursing in their black tongue, their blades held high and their crossbows set. Erestor set his face in a cold death mask, his eyes burning with the fire of Fëanor, his sword raised in defiance.   
The orcs faltered a moment on seeing the proud horse and rider, they sensed the ancient power of the house of Finwë, mightiest of the warlike Noldor race, which both Morgoth and later Sauron had tried to defeat in vain. The fear in their eyes gave way to cocky assurance as they realized that they would prevail by the simple fact of their large numbers. They began their attack in earnest pressing forwards resolutely even though   
Erestor was as terrible as Mandos himself in his fury.

 

“Adar,” Celebrían approached her father as he practised with his sword, “I would talk with you.”

Celeborn sighed, for he knew very well what she had on her mind, he shrugged on his tunic and said softly, “’Bria, your mother would never wish you ill.”

“Would you have married Lúthien Thingol if you had been forced to? Would you have chosen her over my mother?” she asked coldly.

Celeborn said sadly, “Not for anything would I have given up my love for Galadriel.”

“Ada,” Celebrían said bitterly, “I did not know that your love meant that you would sacrifice me to a political marriage. But it is done. I will not let you or naneth down before all of elvendom. But,” she said in a lower voice, “Never shall I forget that it was your weakness to stand up to her that sealed my fate.”

She walked away in a flurry of skirts leaving Celeborn haunted by her parting words. 

 

Gil-Galad paced restlessly in Glorfindel’s study, his features set into a scowl as he muttered angrily, “I should have sent you with him!”

Glorfindel opened his mouth to set Gil-Galad’s fears at rest, but then he closed his mouth again, for he too shared the same fears. 

Gil-Galad said wearily, “I do not think I can meet with Lord Celeborn and discuss the new scheme to patrol the roads with the soldiers of his realm today. Would you take over?”

Glorfindel nodded curtly, the barrack administration was already reeling with the absence of Elrond. Now, with Erestor’s departure, and Gil-Galad’s surliness, Glorfindel had to take charge of the entire administration of the city and the army. He sighed, though both Erestor and Elrond were workaholics, it made everyone else’s life easier.

 

Aldor watched his sons play in the courtyard. The breeze carried their carefree laughter to his ears and he smiled softly. 

“How was your trip?” his wife’s voice asked him.

Aldor turned to face her. Those beautiful features were relaxed as she perused a letter, a trace of a smile lingering on her full lips. He walked to her side, and recognized the elegant script of one of his own captains. 

He whispered, “It was great, my lady, but then I have always cherished these trips to the elven realms.”

She folded the letter and looked up at him, “Is Lord Elrond well? I enjoyed his company more than that of the other elves, I must admit. He seems more earthy, approachable.”

“He was not in good spirits,” he replied, “He left for a stay with the Prince of Greenwood. So this time the meetings were handled solely by Lord Erestor, I do pity the overworked chief counsellor.”

“That is true, but I fear he was born for work alone, so rare are his smiles,” the queen remarked.

“So would yours be if you had to attend countless number of councils at day, deal with the day-to-day affairs and then later tie up all the loose ends, he rarely goes to rest,” Aldor replied.

“So it’s Lord Glorfindel,” she stated plainly.

He averted his eyes and mumbled, “You know? I am sorry.”

“Do not be,” she said quietly, “I give you my blessings in this as you gave me after our youngest was born. We respect each other, true enough, but we were never meant to be together as mates. Invite your friend here or go there as often as time and circumstance allows you. I will do whatever I can to remove your obstacles.”

He drew her hand into his and kissed it softly murmuring, “Thank you. For understanding me.”

She smiled.

 

Elrond asked Thalion hesitantly, “Did you know my mother well?”

“Well indeed, Elrond . For I was with her while we fled to the havens. I was with her when she wed your father. It was after that I returned to serve Oropher, last of Elwe’s true line,” Thalion said quietly, “They were all good souls, I feel, even Madheros, it was fate that led them all down the paths of sorrow and despair. I was there when Maedhros hunted in vain for Dior’s twins. Elured escaped, barely. It is his blood that flows in Anoriel, and the blood of fair Melian, Queen of Thingol of Doriath”. Thalion’s eyes darkened as he remembered, “We have all suffered, some more than the rest, yet the Valar will not forsake us.”

“Spare him your history lessons,” Thranduil said sarcastically as he leaned across Elrond to glower at the master healer, “You will lull him to sleep before the dancing begins in earnest.”

Elrond looked at the open clearing lit only by the bright stars. Elves of Greenwood and their guests mingled freely. The Sindarin nobles danced to Silvan tunes played by the minstrels. 

“Ada,” Thranduil asked Oropher seated to his left, “Would you dance with me?”

“Why do you persist with that question at the beginning of each dance?” Oropher asked amusedly, “My son, the world knows which of us rules the other. Why are you intent on pretending otherwise?”

Thranduil scowled, but got to his feet, and pulled Elrond up as well saying easily, “Come, , let us not waste our time with rusted blades.”

Elrond felt a subtle change in Thranduil’s demeanour, but he was not able to point out what exactly was different. Sinuous arms wrapped around his hips easily, Thranduil had closed his eyes, as he hummed along with the soft music. Elrond wondered about those long golden eyelashes. How come he had never noticed those before? His eyes roved of their own will over the long expanse of neck, and lower further. He gulped nervously as he watched the silver embroidery on the green robes sparkle in the moonlight. Unbound golden tresses clashed superbly against the green of the Prince’s attire. 

“Elrond?” Thranduil asked concernedly, “Shall we retire? You look ill and I am myself weary.”

Elrond nodded, he could not trust his mouth. He wished to be alone on Tol Eressea, away from all living souls, particularly souls like Thranduil Oropherion.

They walked quietly until they had reached the Prince’s chambers. Thranduil turned and asked hesitantly, “Would you stay with me until I fall asleep, ?”

Elrond said softly as he averted his eyes from the alluring figure before him, “I am not certain if that would help.”

Thranduil said pleadingly, those green eyes, burning into Elrond’s own, “Please…”

Elrond gave in as he looked into those eyes, as so many others had before him. He accompanied Thranduil into the room and made for the couch determinedly. There was no way he, the Herald of the High King, would add another notch on Thranduil’s already crowded bedpost.

Thranduil cursed loudly. Elrond turned around to find the Prince’s hair snagged in his tunic as he attempted to remove it over his head. 

Smiling at the situation, Elrond said amusedly, “Clumsy Sindar.”

“Don’t you dare stand there and sound so preachy, you half-breed Noldo,” Thranduil said in a muffled tone, “Come and rescue my hair.”

Elrond reached up to lift the tunic further above Thranduil’s head. His fingers accidentally came into contact with the silken steel chest of the Prince. As Thranduil had raised his arms to pull up the tunic, the perfect golden torso was magnificently displayed. Elrond surreptiously trailed his fingers over the skin until they encountered fabric. Thranduil muttered something in impatience as he tried in vain to free the tunic. Elrond gently pulled the hair free and tugged the tunic away easily. 

Thranduil said ungraciously, “Thank you,” before stalking off to find his night gown. 

Elrond watched the long curves of the Prince’s lean thighs and suppressed a wave of desire. Thranduil tied the knots of the nightgown carelessly and shoved a goblet of wine in Elrond’s hands before sitting at the edge of the bed. Elrond sipped the wine, delighting in the sudden rush of blood, he watched the prince absently run his fingers through his hair. He wished it were his fingers in the golden tresses. He set down his goblet on a side table and crossed the few paces to the bed. Thranduil parted his lips as he made to speak. Elrond bent down and pressed his closed lips against Thranduil’s.

Thranduil suppressed a grin and instead threaded his fingers through Elrond’s hair and took control of the kiss. 

 

________________________________________

* * *

“My Lord, we have tracked the corpses or more precisely, what was left of them, for orcs despoil their victims in ways unutterable,” the warrior said sadly, “But the creatures have left, in a hurry it seems, shall we turn for Lindon?”

Gildor Inglorion nodded grimly, though he wished to slaughter the orcs, his men were tired. They had been in the wilds for a decade and now wished to be in civilization again. 

“Lord,” another rider approached, “there are the remains of only two of our kin and their horses.”

“The third?” Gildor barked, his sharp grey eyes sweeping the tracks once again, “Where is the third?”

“I saw the trail of an elven steed leading away from this slaughter site, the orcs are pursuing the third, and would have probably caught up with him by now. The tracks are nearly half an hour old. The orcs were mounted on wargs, Lord,” the rider said worriedly.

Gildor said determinedly, “We track them; it will not take us long. Five of you remain to build the cairns over the dead, the rest, come with me.”

 

Elrond whispered sadly, looking at the peaceful Sindar Prince lying exhaustedly beside him, “What have I done, Ernil? Sacrificed our friendship for lust?”

The sunlight crept into the room, casting an aura around the sleeping Prince. Elrond pulled the covers further up about his torso and buried his face in his hands. He loved Thranduil and cherished their friendship. The Prince had become someone he could confide in always. Someone he could depend on. The first anchor in his life after Elros’ choice. Now he would lose that trust, lose their friendship. He cursed himself softly as he imagined the Prince’s reaction when he woke up. Thranduil had never sought pleasure from him, had refused even when Elrond had asked him. Now, he had messed up everything.

A hand pulled his hair insistently. He blinked back his tears and looked at a sleepy eyed Thranduil, who mumbled, “Come back to sleep, you idiot, or keep quiet. Dwarvish curses do not sound pleasing to my poor ears after a night of revelry.”

Elrond took a deep breath and said softly, “I am sorry.”

“’Tis fine,” Thranduil said sleepily, “I do not mind cursing.”

“No,” Elrond said distraught, “I am sorry for what I did yesterday night.”

Thranduil rubbed his eyes and looked at Elrond more concernedly, “You regret it?”

Elrond did not reply as he stared at the bed covers determinedly.

“Tell me,” the Prince commanded.

Elrond whispered, “I regret starting it. I am sorry, I cannot explain this, but I desired it. I still desire it. I regret only forcing you when you had always made clear the nature of our friendship. Thranduil, we may put this behind us, but do not cease our friendship.”

Thranduil sat up and in one fluid movement straddled Elrond saying amusedly, “Never in my life have been greeted at morning thus by a lover,” Elrond blushed and averted his eyes, but Thranduil caught his chin and forced him to stare into those green eyes again, the Prince said softly, “I know this is your first time. I promise you, I will never give up our friendship even if you force me. Yesterday was special for me, Elrond. I do not regret it.”

Elrond nodded uncertainly and reached up to finger a lock of Thranduil’s hair murmuring, “I am glad it meant something to you. For I did not want to be yet another prize you claimed.”

Thranduil kissed Elrond’s lips softly and said firmly, “ , this is special to me. I have broken my word to my father. But I do not regret it.”

Elrond closed his eyes and said miserably, “What happens now?”

Thranduil laughed merrily and said, “You are a born worrier, Elrond. Come, let us ready us for the day,” his tone sobered as he said quietly, “I would wish for your company tonight if you are not against it. We can do this on your terms, stop it, or continue it. Atleast until one of us get married.”

Elrond closed the gap between their lips whispering, “I am not capable of thinking right now, my prince.” 

“Your kissing has improved much since yesterday,” Thranduil said appreciatively as he leaned into the kiss.

 

Gildor Inglorion increased their pace, he could hear the too familiar sound of the orcs and their wolves. 

“Let us not be too late,” he whispered to himself, the corpses they had found had been despoiled beyond imagination. He nudged his mare to increase their speed. 

Now he could see the fight in the eerie light of the torches his men held. An elf on a magnificent black stallion was barely holding his own against the foul orcs. The stallion was tired and wounded fatally, yet he kept his head high and tossed his mane proudly. Gildor’s warriors, so accustomed to orc slaying, slaughtered the enemy with methodical easiness. Gildor saw the horse droop its head and fall on its bent forelegs, froth steaming at its mouth. The rider, Gildor shivered as he saw the cold fury on the marble pale face, jumped to the ground and bent on his knees looping his arms around the stallion’s neck. 

Gildor approached him but stayed silent as the elf, arrayed in rich black tunic though now torn and despoiled by black blood, whispered, “You have served me well, , I hate to do this, but I will not prolong the misery of such a friend.”

The horse neighed weakly and nuzzled the elf’s aristocratic forehead as if it could understand its master. The elf stood up, unsheathed his sword and in one swift movement slashed the horse’s neck. The creature collapsed painlessly. The sword clanged to the ground from the elf’s limp hand

Gildor cleared his throat.

The elf looked up at him and bowed grimly saying in his low, rich voice, “I am grateful to you, Lord Gildor, if I am not mistaken.”

Gildor said amazed, “I have not met you before, I am sure,” he scrutinized the handsome, aristocratic features, he shook his head and said more concernedly, “Are you wounded?”

“Erestor Maglorion,” the elf introduced himself, “I have taken a wound on my ribs, but nothing else, you came in time, my Lord. I would not have survived much longer.”

“Lord Erestor!” Gildor gasped, “Why are you on the road without a strong escort? I cannot believe that the King would not send you on an errand to Lothlórien with just two warriors.”

Erestor sighed, “He could not spare any, and we had not expected trouble.”

Gildor nodded saying, “I will not say anything further upon the subject now, My Lord. Though I do not agree with the King’s decision. Now, let me tend to your wounds. Orc blades are not practice arena swords.”

Erestor drew closer to the fire the elves had lit and watched absently the warriors set up watches and settle for rest. Gildor came and stood by him. 

Erestor turned to face him and said with the ghost of a smile, “Thank you for not condemning me to Mandos’ cold halls.”

Gildor said nothing as he shoved a bowl of soup into Erestor’s weary hands and methodically removed the counsellor’s tunic, cleaned and bound the ugly gash that marred the perfect skin. 

“Are you bound for Lindon?” Erestor asked him quietly.

“I am,” Gildor acquiesced, “You will accompany us, of course?”

Erestor said with a haunted look in his black eyes, “I am bound for the refugee camp underneath the peaks of the Hithalegir. I have to be there immediately. Indeed that is why I left Lindon with such haste.”

Gildor had heard about the ill-fated defence of Eregion from the wayfarers as his company had crossed the mountains. Minstrels had sung of the valiant Glorfindel, the capture of Celebrimbor, the flaming city, and the long retreat led by Elrond Peredhel and Erestor Maglórien.

“I would come with you willingly,” Gildor said, “if my warriors were not so weary of the long trails. I will not, however, in good conscience let you brave the path alone. Come back with us till you reach the border posts, then I shall ride on and secure you an escort.”

Erestor’s eyes were unfocussed as he replied tiredly, “No, must reach the valley.”

Gildor held him before he drooped to the ground. Signalling his warriors to begin the watchs, he drew his cloak over Erestor and pulled him close to his body. The counsellor shivered, but did not wake from his healing sleep. 

 

Glorfindel watched the company of Gildor Inglorion riding into the courtyard. So the Wandering company was home again. 

Moments later, Gil-Galad knocked and entered the Balrog Slayer’s study.

“Tired of the gypsies already?” Glorfindel smiled at the King.

Gil-Galad said abruptly, “Gildor has not come. It seems they met Erestor on the trail. They rescued him from orcs. The escort was slain. Erestor has been wounded, but not by a poisoned blade,” he sighed, his face gaunt, “Gildor has decided to escort him safely to that accursed valley.”

Glorfindel said quietly, “Gildor will see him safe, Gil. Do not worry.”  
He was not very worried for he could sense Erestor in his mind and his instincts ensured him that the counsellor was not in peril.

“What is this infatuation with that valley, Glorfindel?” Gil-Galad asked furiously, “That he has to leave his King and bonded mate behind?”

Glorfindel replied defensively, “He still shoulders the burden of failure of Eregion when he was forced to ride to war leaving King and bonded mate behind.”

Gil-Galad cursed, “You are no assurance, Glorfindel, nor do you offer me wise counsel. Let me go and seek out my aunt.”

 

Haldir watched from outside the room as Celebrían paced within. There was an expression of despair, betrayal and fear on those handsome features. Haldir wondered what could have made the carefree maiden whose laughter used to lighten hearts so sad. She was to be engaged to Lord Elrond, it was a valuable alliance. And Elrond was considered a prize catch in their circles. So why was she so unhappy? Haldir was shaken out of his musings when Celebrían threw a large vase to the ground in helpless fury. 

He bit down a smile as he called to her, “My Lady, Destroying Noldor property?”

She turned startled, as she saw him and blushed in mortification and anger before saying coldly, “Marchwarden, you trespass.”

He smiled saying, “Indeed I do and with good reason for I was on my way to the court when you gave vent to your anger so audibly. I was concerned lest you should hurt yourself.”

Celebrían said severely, “Thank you for your concern, now I would wish you gone.”

Haldir gave her a mock bow, and laughed as she stormed away, banging the door after her in anger.

Celebrían’s lips quirked slightly as she found the humour that Haldir would have seen in the situation. Then her lips drooped as she recalled that the rider to recall Elrond had left that morning. Her days of freedom were fast ending.

 

Oropher saw the unopened letter from Lindon on his son’s desk. He crossed and opened it, Thranduil had been more occupied with showing Elrond the woods than his official correspondence. Oropher smiled, it was good to see his son not cooped up within stuck with his duties as the Crown Prince. 

He frowned as he saw the elegant script of Erestor. Why had Erestor sent a rider when the official messenger from Lindon had arrived just a day ago?

“My prince,

Elrond’s marriage with the Lady Celebrían has been arranged by the King Amdir, Lady Galadriel and Gil. They are awaiting only his return to hold the betrothal. I wish I could break the news to him myself, but I am sure that you would do the best by him. I hope that you are well, my regards to your Adar. And to Elrond,

Erestor.”

Thranduil entered the room and greeted his father happily, “It is rare to see you doing correspondence, Great King of Great Greenwood!”

Oropher gave him the letter, Thranduil read it silently before facing his father again.

“What do we do?” Oropher asked quietly, “This is folly.”

“We do nothing, Ada,” Thranduil embraced him, “We cannot do anything to oppose that both Celeborn and Galadriel have decided upon. And Elrond’s guardian is Gil-Galad. He has the right to command him to marry Celebrían.”

Oropher rested his head on his son’s shoulder and whispered harshly, “It is a loveless union, my son. They will suffer all eternity.”

Thranduil tightened his embrace and said firmly, “Maybe. But we cannot interfere, Ada. I will be there for Elrond through all, but I think Galadriel is to blame. As is Celeborn for not hearing his daugher’s heart.”

Oropher asked Thranduil softly, “You did not agree to the alliance with Anoriel because of the politics, did you?”

“I would have married for the sake of our realms even if there had been no love,” Thranduil whispered, “But I am glad that I love her. It is your choice, and you have always done right by me, Ada.”

 

________________________________________

* * *

“You come here often?” Elrond asked Thranduil as he watched the clear sky. Thranduil had led him to a rocky pool. The water was still except for the songs of the birds there was silence. The Prince was poring over what seemed like official documents, his forehead crinkled slightly in concentration. Elrond was lying on his back lazily beside the Prince, who sat cross-legged, his head bent.

“Often,” Thranduil said quietly, “Whenever I feel out of sorts.”

“What happened?” Elrond asked concernedly, “Have you had no news from Anoriel?”

“No, I have not yet,” Thranduil said, “Nor had I expected it, she cannot openly disobey her father, her king.”

“Then?” Elrond queried.

Thranduil shrugged, “I must say that I have unease on my mind. Though I have reasons, I fear they may not be all.”

Elrond was about to haul himself into a sitting position when an arrow whizzed past Thranduil’s head missing narrowly. They leapt onto their feet and made for their weapons, but more arrows flew through the air, two grazing Elrond’s left arm. He fell back onto his knees numbly as something tampered with his warrior instincts. He watched groggily as Thranduil landed on the ground with a heavy thud beside him, the royal parchments he had been reading fluttering about in the wind. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was a group of swarthy men arrive in the glen, smug expressions on their ugly faces.

 

“Elrond,” a hand shook him roughly, “Elrond, wake up, please!”

“Thranduil,” Elrond muttered as he opened his eyes blearily, they were in a dark cave, their legs bound by strong iron chains. Their capturers were sitting in a circle around a large fire, laughing and eating. They paid no attention to their prisoners. But Elrond knew that the men were not as gullible as they seemed.

“Glad to know you remember my name,” Thranduil said dryly, “I had despaired of waking you.”

“Sedated arrows,” Elrond explained to a dubious looking Prince.

“Beyond the point,” Thranduil cut in changing to the forbidden tongue of Quenya, “We need to escape! Those are slavers.”

“Being enslaved would be an enlightening experience what with our long lives,” Elrond offered in the same tongue. The words sounded clipped and unnatural from his mouth though they seemed natural and pleasing from Thranduil.

“Curse me for bedding a Peredhel, a Noldo Peredhel at that!” Thranduil said, “I meant, you dull-wit, that if we are sold to the enemy, our lives and our hides would not be worth even a Noldor song!”

Elrond sobered and asked worriedly, “What do we do?”

Thranduil muttered something in dwarvish best left untransalated. 

Four men from the circle by the fire approached them and dragged them to the centre of the circle, Elrond felt the hairs on his spine raise as more than sixty pairs of eyes appraised him.

There was a swarthy man, darker than the rest, seated in what evidently seemed to be the place of honour, for his neighbours had maintained a respectful distance. The man raised his right hand and flicked his fingers once. The men who had dragged Elrond and Thranduil approached them again and without further ado, ripped apart their clothing with their crude knives. Elrond felt the cold wind penetrate his very soul as he shivered naked, surrounded by the slavers, whose eyes devoured his body greedily, calculating the obvious profit they would make.

“You treat your hosts with remarkable crudeness,” Thranduil said clearly, his eyes on the chieftain.

The man laughed saying as his eyes roved over the Prince’s graceful form, “This one is young, not yet ripe. The best age to break them in.”

“We are not horses to be broken in,” Thranduil said coldly, “Cease this folly and release us. If you leave immediately, then you may not come to harm.”

All the men jeered and the chieftain asked guffawing, “And who may be you to say thus?”

“Thranduil Oropherion, Crown Prince Of Green Wood the Great,” was the quiet reply.

There was a collective gasp and silence for a few moments before the chieftain leered, “Ah! The famed jewel of the lovesick Elf King’s hoard! Then you shall certainly be worth much if we hand you over to the Lord Of Mordor.”

Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest proudly saying, “You shall, if you can take us there.”

The men laughed at his words. The chieftain walked to the Prince and kept his hand on Thranduil’s cheek humiliatingly. But the Prince continued staring at him coldly. 

As the man’s hands slowly crept down Thranduil’s front body towards his chest, Thranduil whispered in Quenya, “None who hurt the royal blood of Greenwood shall draw breath again.”

The man grunted in surprise, clutched his chest, pain convulsing his pain and fell to the ground slowly, his hands trailing numbly down Thranduil’s thighs and legs before the man fell dead at the Prince’s feet. The slavers got to their feet screaming, but they were frightened to approach the two elves, they fled haphazardly, their confused, frightened voices resounding in the forest even after they had disappeared. Thranduil closed his eyes tiredly, Elrond approached him awkwardly hampered by the chains on his legs and they hugged each other relieved at the end of their ordeal. 

A muffled sobbing from the back of the cave, Thranduil muttered, “Yet one of those cowards,” he took up on of the slaver’s abandoned swords and swung it forcefully at Elrond’s chains. 

Elrond staggered as the chain split, and then massaged his cramped legs wearily. Then he took the sword from the Prince and broke the chains on his feet. Thranduil held onto his shoulder to support himself as the blood reached his numbed legs. 

The moaning began again. Elrond said uncertainly, “It doesn’t sound like the human tongue, come, shall we see?”

Thranduil said grimly, “Take a sword and arm yourself, we cannot take any more follies.”

Elrond obeyed and they went to the back of the dark cave. Thranduil waved a burning log he had taken from the fire to lighten the corners. A shivering slender form lay huddled together in a dark corner emitting soft sounds of pain and helplessness.

Elrond advanced, his healer’s instincts taking over, he knelt down beside the form and lay his hand on the shuddering shoulder. 

“Elven,” he murmured with disgust and compassion as he noted the pointed ears and the white hair of the sufferer. 

He gently helped the elf to sit up and Thranduil cursed, “Look at his face, and his wounds! Elrond, he is fading!” 

Elrond said reprovingly as his patient began sobbing anew, his head bent, “My prince, just break the manacles and help me carry him to the fireside. He is cold. We can then treat his wounds.”

Thranduil muttered something darkly, but complied and then helped Elrond carry the still half-delirious from to the fireside. The Prince then gathered the abandoned blankets, handed one to Elrond, wrapped another over his naked form and then spread the rest over the ground. Elrond laid the elf on the blankets. They tore a blanket into small pieces, dipped them into the water pots in the cave and then bathed the elf gently.

Thranduil dabbed the elf’s dirty face remarking, “he is pleasant enough to look upon without the grime. Noldor, I guess.”

Elrond pointed to the white hair and said smirking, “No Noldor has had white hair. Perhaps Falathrim.” 

Thranduil shrugged, “He is gaining consciousness. I will search for herbs and food in these bags left behind by those fools. You keep him company.”

As Thranduil messed about the bags, Elrond watched the elf awake. His mind filled with pity at the haggard, bruised features of the elf’s face. The eyes opened slowly, they were light green, unlike Thranduil’s deep green ones.

“Green eyes,” Elrond remarked to Thranduil, “Definitely Sindarin.”

The rescued elf frowned in confusion and fear on seeing Elrond. 

“You are safe,” Elrond said reassuringly, “In elven hands.”

“In half-elven hands,” Thranduil offered sarcastically.

The elf whispered hoarsely, “They sold me?”

“No,” Elrond smiled kindly and raise the scared elf’s head a bit to help him drink water, “we were also caught and managed to escape. We are safe,” he assured the frightened elf again, “safe,” he emphasized.

“This is healing?” Thranduil drawled, “Seems like hypnotizing to me.”

Elrond ignored him and asked the elf he was tending to, “What is your name?” 

Thranduil joined him curiously. He wanted to know how the elf had become captured. 

The elf looked at the Prince and said wonderingly, “Vanyarin?”

Elrond raised an eyebrow as Thranduil said laughing, “See, Elrond, I bear much likeness to-”

Elrond cut in disgruntled, “No, . ‘Tis but a simple wood-elf,” who can slay men with his words, he reminded himself, never had he seen such power in any elf. Thranduil commanded a power so magnetic and mysterious that even Galadriel dared not cross him.

But now, the said simple wood elf huffed at Elrond’s words and pouted. The other elf smiled weakly at the Prince’s displeasure and said softly, “Lindir, I once served the house of Finarfin.”

Thranduil directed a smug look of victory at Elrond and mouthed, “Noldorin, I told you.”

Elrond set his mouth into a thin line to control his much tried temper and said kindly, “Lindir, I am Elrond, and this is Prince Thranduil, of this realm. You need not fear us.”

“It is the first time in centuries that I have not feared,” Lindir’s admission sent shivers down Elrond’s spine.

“You mean?” Thranduil asked softly, “Were you held for all those years?”

“I was captured by Morgoth’s scouts during the long siege,” Lindor said quietly, his fear and torment clouding his eyes, “And held there until the hosts of the West arrived. Then I was given into the service of the Southrons. They were more vindictive after their defeat. I…I think I have been more dead than alive all these years. Sometimes Morgoth himself was kinder than these men.”

Elrond shuddered as images of torment and despair filled his mind. Thranduil said firmly, “It is over, Lindir, you have survived and escaped. Now you are in the free air again. We will take you to safety. For now, rest and trust us.”

Lindir shivered as he said hesitantly, “I have too vivid memories of abuses physical and mental. I dare not trust even my own shadow.”

Thranduil exchanged a glance with Elrond who said in an assuring voice, “the Prince shall gift us a song. I will guard your dreams, Lindir.”

Lindir still hesitated and then Thranduil placed a sword in his limp hands saying merrily, “Feel free to slay Elrond if either of us betrays your trust.”

Lindir smiled and relaxed slightly. His features softened as he finally felt into a troubled rest lulled by Thranduil’s song, which, to Elrond’s utter mortification, was a bawdy, yet melodious composition that described Elrond’s body in accurate detail. The only saving grace was that it was in the language of the Silvan Folk.

“You deserve to have you tongue chopped off!” he hissed after making sure that Lindir was asleep.

Thranduil shrugged, “What else can you expect a simple wood-elf to sing of?”

 

________________________________________

* * *

Erestor sighed tiredly as he finally finished his work for the day. It was near midnight. He walked silently through the woods towards the river musing on the work done and the work yet to be done. He had begun the construction of a more permanent settlement for the refugees. He spent hours every day to design the lay of various buildings. And he listened to the grievances of a folk whose Lord had perished and whose kin in Lindon had abandoned them. He stripped his clothes quickly and dove into the Bruinen, unmindful of the cold water. Then he began cursing loudly, venting his pent-up frustration. It was his way after a very tense day, it always helped him refocus.

“Bad day?” a voice asked him amusedly, Erestor looked to see Gildor standing nearly concealed by a large tree.

“Not much worse than usual,” Erestor conceded fairly, “What are you doing here at midnight?”

Gildor approached him slowly, a trace of uncertainty on his face. He sat down by the shore and trailed his fingers through the water. Erestor waited curiously.  
“Doing my duty,” Gildor said finally.

Erestor frowned, “What duty, My Lord?”

“I have a vow to protect the rightful heir to the throne of Finwë,” Gildor murmured.

Erestor swam closer to the bank and tilted his head in bewilderment, “Gil-Galad asked you to protect me?”

“You do not understand,” Gildor sighed, “The only heir that Finwë acknowledged was Fëanor, son of Miriel. Only one of Fëanor’s line can lead the Noldor without death. Finwë named Fëanor heir before the Valar themselves. It is the reason why Fingolfin, Fingon, Turgon, Orodeth and Finrod all fell, My Lord. They carried not Fëanor’s blood in their veins.”

Erestor climbed out of the water and wrapped his robe about his slender form before giving a hand to help Gildor up. They walked together silently through the woods. The scream of an elfling broke the quiet. They ran towards the sound, their swords drawn.

And simultaneously stopped in their tracks, for before them in the mud lay a little elf boy, his clothes torn, hair matted, body emaciated. The boy screamed again as a rabbit poked its nose out of its burrow curiously.

Erestor smiled and bending down gracefully, picked up the dirty elfling, who snivelled and burrowed his face deep into Erestor’s light robe.

“What is your name?” Gildor inspected the burns and the bruises on the elfling’s body with increasing alarm, “And where is your family?”

“Mel, Naneth called me,” was the muffled reply, “she left me, adar too. Mel all alone now. Scared.”

“Now,” Erestor said softly, “where are you from? It is not wise to walk in the middle of the night.”

“Mel doesn’t know,” came the pitiful reply.

Erestor stroked the elfling’s back reassuringly and said to Gildor, “We will enquire in the morning, Mel. For now, I need my rest. As do you. We are not made of stone.”

“Well,” Gildor said laughing, “As long as I do not have to share my mattress with the little one for he stinks!”

The next morning when Erestor was carrying the elfling to the woman folk to enquire, several guards gave the boy looks of recognition. After settling the elfling with a young maid, Erestor called a guard and waited expectantly.

“He is the son of one of those guards who died at Celebrimbor’s city, My Lord. His naneth was fading even as we retreated. Then you had not yet joined us. Lord Elrond was dead worried for you and occupied with the retreat. So none of us noticed that the boy and his naneth was missing till it was too late,” the guard said regretfully.

“But he has reached here,” Erestor said crisply, “Followed the retreat.”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard bowed, “There are many who have lost their children in the battle. They will care for him.”

Erestor nodded before saying nonchalantly, “If he does not take to any of them, then tell me,” he paused, “Now, we have to discuss the border patrols, I believe.”

Gildor remarked as they shared lunch that day, “The elves are fussing over the little one who seems quite hale after his ordeal.”

Erestor nodded, his dark eyes misted by memory, “That is good, for else I had planned to foster him. I would not have anyone grow up deprived of parental love.”

“But,” Gildor said softly, “Most of us have grown up thus. Now I have a letter from the king informing us of the herald’s engagement. He has asked us not to travel to Lindon saying that the marriage will arrive soon.”

 

Elrond read with increasing dismay the letter demanding him to come to Lindon.

“It is our duty to our realm,” Thranduil said firmly, as he looked over at Elrond from behind his desk, where he was going over something that looked like an inventory list.

“I do not even know her, Thranduil,” Elrond whined, “And Galadriel, I hate her.”

“You are getting engaged to Galadriel’s daughter, Elrond, not to Galadriel herself,” Thranduil reminded him reasonably, “And there is a long way between a betrothal and a marriage. You can always stop it by mutual consent.”

Elrond made a face saying, “It is not you who is getting betrothed to Galadriel’s daughter! So you talk.”

Thranduil laughed, “Think of poor Celeborn then, Elrond. Now come,” he focussed back on his list, “Let me finish this and then give you a royal farewell in my room.”

“You will not come to Lindon,” Elrond begged, “I need someone to go through with this.”

“I have not even been invited by your King, Elrond. He is keen on having a low profile ceremony. I would come, but Ada would kill me if I attended a Noldor betrothal without a state invitation,” Thranduil said chuckling.

“Well then,” Elrond sighed, “Promise me you will take care of Lindir.” Oropher had assured him saying that he would shelter Lindir until the elf wished to leave. 

“Yes, yes, I will not bed him if that is your next question,” Thranduil smirked, “Bedding the Noldor is not good for my mental faculties.”

 

Glorfindel watched Gil-Galad hurry over to him, a sombre expression on his face.

“Erestor?” he asked breathlessly as the King stopped before him, pale and frightened. Gil-Galad took a crumpled letter from within his tunic and gave it to Glorfindel. The reborn elf opened the letter with increasing panic. It was a woman’s hand, one he did not recognize.

“To The Lord Glorfindel,

I regret to inform you that my husband, Aldor, has passed away beyond the circles of Middle Earth after falling bravely to a rogue band of Southrons. I knew of your friendship and share your sorrow. But, My Lord, human lives are short, like candlewax, we burn and melt. Yours is an eternal life. Seek your own path to happiness away from mortal flames.”

 

Elrond waited dully in his cousin’s familiar study. How he hated Lindon with all the memories..of Gil proposing to Erestor, of their wedding, each place seemed to have an imprint of their love.

“Cousin Elrond,” Gil-Galad hugged him, “You seem better than I would have expected you to be after a stint at Oropher’s court.”

Elrond hugged his cousin dutifully and then asked worriedly, “How fare you, Gil?” for there was dark circles under Gil-Galad’s eyes.

“Not too well,” Gil-Galad sighed, “Elrond, Erestor is in that valley with the refugees. He went there after a near argument with me regarding their plight. Gildor was supposed to have returned, but he joined Erestor. Glorfindel’s human is dead. Menelwen and Galdor are visiting Círdan at the Havens. So I have been stuck with the administration. And predictably, I am in unfamiliar waters.”

“I will take over the administration, Gil,” Elrond offered charitably. He was already thinking why Gildor Inglorion had felt compelled to accompany Erestor. 

“No, Elrond,” Gil-Galad sighed, “You are getting betrothed tomorrow. Now, you will go and take Celebrían for a walk. It is the manner in which these things must be done.”

 

Celebrían waited coldly as Elrond spoke with Celeborn. She examined her would-be husband and curled her lips at the human traits she so despised. Elrond was darker than most Noldor, with fine hair on his arms. So unlike her father’s beautiful people. She turned to spare her mother a withering glance. For Galadriel stood behind her serenely as if she was perfectly satisfied.

“My Lady,” Elrond bowed, “Would you grace me with a walk?”

Celebrían nodded stiffly and gave him her hand. He led her out into the gardens. Once they were out of sight of everyone, she yanked her arm back abruptly.

“My Lady,” Elrond asked surprised, “How have I offended you?”

“By wishing to marry me, Peredhil!” she exclaimed furiously.

Elrond ran a hand distractedly over his hair as he cursed Galadriel. Then he faced Celebrían with a calmness he did not feel and said, “My Lady, I am no more a willing participant to this farce than you are. I obey my King as you obey your Naneth. It is merely for our lines to unite, as they have commanded. If you see a way out of this, I shall aid you.”

“I am not a mare to be bred from,” Celebrían said angrily. 

Elrond said sadly, “No more than I make a foundation sire. Yet that is the part we have been given.”

“You cannot be sad,” Celebrían said vindictively, “After all, you marry the daughter of Celeborn the Wise and Galadriel the Witch. High achievement for a half-breed indeed. You cannot have chosen a better partner.”

“Actually, my heart has chosen, as your mother would tell you if you bother to question her,” Elrond retorted, though he was trying hard to restrain his strained temper, it was a temptation to let go.

“Then have your way with your chosen one and leave me in peace,” Celebrían said furiously, “I cannot contemplate eternity with you.”

“Well,” Elrond remarked wryly, “there are always wars. You can send a petition to the orcs to dispose of me to regain your freedom, my Lady. I see no other way.”

“I will not disgrace my realm,” Celebrían said quietly, “Peredhil, I shall take my vows, but know that I despise you.”

“My name is Elrond,” he said helpfully, “though the word ‘Peredhil’ is pleasing enough from your melodious lips, I do not like it very much. It reminds me too much of your lady mother.”

She left disdainfully.

 

Erestor raised his eyebrows at the letter the messengers from Greenwood had brought along with supplies. He had been on the verge of asking Lindon for supplies, but Oropher had saved him the humiliation of begging Gil-Galad after leaving him in a huff of righteous anger. 

 

He smirked at the letter, 

Dear 'Tor,

Know you must be starving there, so thought I might send you this along with the Noldor kinslayer I saved from the slavers. Do with them what you wish. Knowing that your pride will not allow you to ask Lindon for supplies,

Your favourite prince.

 

“Bring him in,” he asked the Greenwood emissaries.

A slim, reedy figure shorter than the warriors entered, his eyes fixed on the ground. Erestor frowned, yet one more broken soul he had to contend with. What was Thranduil thinking?

“Welcome, Lindir,” Erestor bowed and continued informally, “My name is Erestor. I am the chief counsellor to the High King. But in a bizarre set of events, I find myself digging trenches in this valley to accommodate these people.” 

“I cannot be of any use to you, My Lord,” Lindir said softly.

“Oh yes, you can!” Erestor said indignantly, “What are you interested in doing?”

“Gardening and maybe cooking. Anything without swords,” Lindir said shamefacedly, “I had enough of that for a lifetime.” 

“I understand,” Erestor said reassuringly, “I will appoint you the chief gardener with immediate effect, Lindir. Go out and do what you will with the land unbound by my chalk lines. And draft anyone idle to your command.”

“My Lord!” Lindir asked stunned, “You are mad!” he closed his hand over his mouth as horror dawned on his features. He had just called the chief counsellor to the high king himself mad.

“Yes, yes,” Erestor said nonchalantly, and then lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Never mind. I do have Fëanor’s rather mad blood in my veins, you know,” Lindir smiled helplessly.

Erestor nodded, he had accomplished making the other elf relax with him, “Go now and see to the gardens.”

 

Amroth glanced up lazily from his position on the sofa as his father moved to stand at the balcony of the talan. Amdir’s shoulders were tensed and his features were spoilt by a perfect scowl.

“What is it?” Amroth asked lightly, “The soldiers finally took the cane to Haldir?”

“No,” Amdir said angrily, “That counsellor of Gil-Galad’s is in the valley with his beloved refugees.”

“The valley is not in our realm,” Amroth said surprised, “Why do you think of that?”

“He is cunning, ,” Amdir said, “The valley is strategic. He knows he can control the passes from there. And Oropher has sent him aid, I hear. Why my kin loves a Fëanorian, I do not know!”

“Lord Erestor is wiser than the rest in that mad town of Lindon,” Amroth said confidently, “Both Anoriel and I have found his company intellectually pleasing. He wears his emotions less visibly, yet his sincerity rings true.”

“Galadriel fears him,” Amdir remarked as he paced the floor of the talan.

“Well, then, you should assure yourself that he can be trusted. Anoriel is right. Whomever the lady of the light doubts, we can trust their goodness. Does the lady not doubt Lord Elrond too? Does she not fear the prince too?” Amroth observed calmly.

 

Elrond and Celebrían were betrothed before Gil-Galad the next day, their hands entwined, and they pressed a chaste kiss on each other’s lips. But only Galadriel could read their thoughts as they exchanged betrothal rings.

 

In the East, a shadow grew, summoning all evil to it. Aldor’s pyre was lit by his eldest son and his grieving widow sobbed in her lover’s arms. In Lindon, an elf with golden hair saddled his horse and rode to a valley to seek comfort from his dearest friend.

 

The world was changing.  
________________________________________

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Erestor walked slowly through the newly paved streets of the valley, his sharp eyes making sure that everything was in perfect order. Gil-Galad and Elrond were coming to visit the next month. It had been twenty long years since he had seen them, since he had left Lindon. 

Though Glorfindel and Gildor visited often, Erestor was lonely. Lindir, the Noldor kinslayer, had become a good companion. But he refused to talk of war or orcs or Sauron or politics. And Erestor was not particularly interested in hearing of gardening and cooking. 

“Lord Erestor!” a young voice called him enthusiastically, “They are hanging the banners on the trees.” 

Erestor smiled, Melpomaen had become a bright, young elf. Erestor planned to teach him statesmanship if he could find the time. Maybe he could send the young one to Círdan to be tutored.

“Lord?” Melpomaen asked curiously watching the usually solemn chief counsellor’s relaxed features. 

Erestor was clad in warm brown robes, a gift from the Sindar Prince of Greenwood. Melpomaen did not understand this friendship. The first time Thranduil rode into the valley alone and wary, there had been rumours that he was Erestor’s secret lover and that this was the reason why the chief counsellor was away from his bonded mate, the high king. But these rumours had fizzled out, for if Thranduil arrived every alternate full moon night, a hooded rider from Lothlórien would also arrive. They spent much time together before parting ways the next dawn. The guards said that the Prince’s secret friend was a woman as fair as Melian the Maia. Thranduil would leave first. Erestor would then accompany the hooded rider till the High Pass.

“Mel,” Erestor said smiling, “forgive my distraction, I am merely happy that I will see my friends after such a long time.”

“Why didn’t you go to them?” Melpomaen asked wonderingly, “Isn’t the high-king unhappy with your absence? All bonded mates hate to be apart according to my aunt.”

“Yes, it is true,” Erestor sighed, thinking of the many melancholy nights he had brought himself to completion, “But circumstances force us to do what we often do not like, Mel,” seeing the fearful expression in the younger elf’s eyes, he continued briskly, “Now go and find that horsemaster. Ask him to meet me.”

Erestor continued his round slowly halting often to talk to the busy people who were overwhelmed that the high-king would visit their valley. He heard a low humming of an old Valinorian song that Glorfindel had often sung for him. Curious, he turned around to find Lindir humming softly as he worked in the flower beds. 

Sensing Erestor’s approach, Lindir stopped his song and bowed, a blush staining his features.

“Where did you learn to sing like that?” Erestor asked amazed, “It seems as if your voice was trained by the very best.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Lindir said uncomfortably, “I was once taught by the masters of Tirion.”

Erestor’s intense look worried Lindir. He had rightly learned to fear that particular look with intense scheming. It was an oft-worn expression whenever Thranduil and Erestor played chess, ripping down each other’s strategies.

 

Elrond and Gil-Galad watched amusedly as Glorfindel struggled with his horse. The white mare was untried yet the Balrog slayer had persisted in bringing it on the journey to the valley. 

“I cannot stop grinning,” the king sighed, “We will be there tonight!”

Elrond said carefully, “Yes, he must be eager too. His letters were growing heavier with each passing year.”

Gil-Galad grinned again, “Yes, love is unruly. And eager. You will soon come to know, cousin, when you wed Galadriel’s pretty child.”

“I do not know of the ‘eager’ part, Gil,” Elrond remarked wryly, “But I can certainly expect it to be unruly.”

They passed into the valley and stared in amazement. The woods that Elrond had left twenty years ago had been cleared gently to make wide stone paved paths. Through the foliage of the trees, they could see stone buildings. The path curved once more and gasped, for before them was a large mansion, curved and smooth, aesthetically blended with the surround. Elves ran to meet them joyously. 

Gil-Galad whispered, “He has changed.”

Erestor stood at the foot of the steps that led into the mansion, he was clad in magnificent black silken robes. Silver embroidered patterns graced the rich cloth. His hair was unbound and fluttered gently in the breeze. His hands were clasped before him as a smile graced his handsome features. Elrond looked into those black eyes and realized that Erestor had changed. There was an awareness in those eyes that spoke of hardships borne and conquered triumphantly. Wisdom, grief, pride and restraint shone in those black pools. 

Gil-Galad and Elrond dismounted. Glorfindel was still struggling with his feisty mare. Erestor bowed formally to Gil-Galad before embracing him tightly. The king pulled him into a deeply passionate kiss. 

Elrond watched Glorfindel’s antics with the mare determinedly. The ill peace that he had all these years seemed better compared to this sweet torture of what he could not have.

“Elrond,” Erestor advanced smiling and embraced him. Elrond relaxed into the embrace, letting himself indulge in the familiar scent of Erestor’s body.

 

Erestor showed them to spacious, yet sparsely furnished rooms. They rested and met for dinner near the river.

“It feels good to be back here,” Elrond commented lazily as he dangled his legs in the water.

“It feels good to be together again,” Glorfindel murmured.

“It feels good to hold you close again,” Gil-Galad purred seductively as he fed Erestor a tidbit.

“Hmm,” Erestor said thoughtfully, “it feels good to relax again.”

“You are coming back with me to Lindon ,even if I have to carry you,” Gil-Galad said firmly, “I am still the King, you know.”

“And who will manage here?” Erestor asked.

“You are my chief counsellor, Erestor,” Gil-Galad reminded him, “Not my official representative in this valley. Elrond can stay here until he leaves for the winter to his betrothed’s land. He mopes so in Lindon anyway.”

Elrond was so happy to be back in the valley and in Erestor’s company that he did not mind being reminded of his duty to spend a winter in Lothlórien. Atleast, he thought it would take him away from this loving couple.

“Does this valley not have a name yet?” Glorfindel asked.

“Well,” Elrond contemplated, “As we have the High-King himself here, Let us ask him to name the valley.”

“Seconded,” Erestor said quickly.

Gil-Galad mused for a few moments before saying, “This valley is a settlement for the refugees. Giving them shelter. I think the name Imladris is apt.”

“Imladris it shall be called then,” Elrond said quietly. 

“So,” Glorfindel began his favourite occupation of bantering with Erestor, “Where is all the finery from? Have you taken a lover?” 

Erestor swallowed his wine in shock before sparing Glorfindel a scornful look and muttering, “I say that only people who run about with swords, get killed by balrogs, come back and act the hero have a long list of contending lovers. For me, I love and am happy to be loved by my mate.” This earned him a kiss from the king. 

But Elrond said in a guarded tone, “So where is all the finery from? Gil and I had expected you to be clad in coarse tunics and sack cloth leggings.”

“Lady Anoriel takes pity on me occasionally,” Erestor said conspiratorially, “A bribe for hiding their trysting here.”

“Does Oropher know of his son’s doings?” Gil-Galad asked worriedly, “I do not want him after my blood.”

“I have never asked Thranduil,” Erestor said frankly, “Though not much of his doings are hidden from his father.”

“Who escorts the lady to her home?” Glorfindel asked concernedly, “She does not ride alone, I hope?”

“I take her to the High Pass. There on the other side, Celeborn or Amroth, who are in the secret, meet her,” Erestor said, swatting Elrond’s hand from the last piece of a pie.

“Thranduil cannot manage even love without risks,” Glorfindel remarked, “He is a fey one.”

“That he is,” Elrond began, “Erestor, do you know what happened when we were taken by the slavers on my visit to the Greenwood? He killed a man without lifting a weapon.”

“Elrond was hallucinating then,” Gil-Galad said dismissively.

“How did he do that?” Glorfindel asked curiously, “Did he use his most lethal weapon?” 

Amidst Gil-Galad’s and Glorfindel’s hearty chuckling, Elrond continued indignantly, “He spoke in the forbidden tongue and the man just died!”

“Well,” Glorfindel sobered, “I have heard that Quenya is powerful. Though only those who have dwelt in Valinor can truly claim that power. I did not expect our wild prince to have that talent.”

Gil-Galad asked incredulously, “How is he able to do that?”

Erestor remarked, leaning back onto Glorfindel’s shoulder, “The High-King is jealous of a woodland prince.”

“No,” Gil-Galad retorted, “I am merely curious. Not even Galadriel has done this.”

“True,” Elrond mused thinking of the expression of power in Thranduil’s green eyes at that moment, “Yet with every passing day, I begin to think that we do not yet have the measure of our Sindar kin. Celeborn is powerful, though in a subtle way. So is Oropher. Amroth and Anoriel are both strong willed and wise.”

“But nobody kills with words as Thranduil does,” Gil-Galad reminded him, “That prince is fey.”

“It is the forest,” Elrond said thoughtfully, “He has a strong connection to any living tree, but underneath the canopy of Green wood, the trees bow to his will. It is not the Silvan affinity with the trees. It is more like Círdan and the sea.”

“Yet how was he able to wield this power so confidently?” Gil-Galad asked, “Galadriel did not start until she was an age older.”

“Gil,” Glorfindel said solemnly, the wisdom of his two lives shining in his blue eyes, “The Prince has reached the keep of Death and returned to Arda. His will and wisdom have deepened. That along with the fact that he is of Vanyarin descent has helped him wield his power.”

Erestor got to his feet complaining, “While I can talk of our ernil’s eccentricities for hours, I had hoped that our meeting after so long would hasten our retiring tonight. Anyway I go to seek my rest, Gil. I am tired.”

Gil-Galad nodded barely before targeting Glorfindel with further questions on Thranduil’s power. Elrond shrugged, his cousin was jealous as Erestor had earlier remarked baldly. He followed Erestor into the mansion.

“Elrond,” Erestor said blushing, “I am sorry, I am yet to congratulate you on your betrothal to the lady Celebrían.”

“She has promised me that she would pray for my early death and her liberation,” Elrond said dully.

Erestor looked into Elrond’s eyes a moment before replying steadily, “I know there is no love between you and her. But that does not give her the right to speak thus. You are the noblest elf she could possibly meet and nobody in their right mind can turn you down.”

Elrond sighed, “Erestor, do you believe that I am in love?”

“I feel that,” Erestor said uncertainly, “that your heart is not yours anymore. Love is not a word I have truly understood. Lust, yes, it is something I have felt. As is platonic love, affection, care and comradeship. But not true love as minstrels sing of it.”

“I made several mistakes while I was with Thranduil,” Elrond confessed blushing, “Trust me, he awakened things I never knew existed in me.”

“Yes,” Erestor smiled reminiscently, “I gathered as much from his description of your internal beauty. But I do not think he considers it a mistake.”

“After you bonded with Gil, have you ever thought of anyone in such a manner?” Elrond asked tentatively.

Erestor laughed, a melodious sound, before he replied, “Other than our Prince, you ask?”

“Yes, other than our Prince,” Elrond rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Erestor said good naturedly, “Gildor Inglorion was equally curious once. To tell you the truth, I have. It is not the parting alone. You know, I have always been more enthusiastic than Gil in certain matters,” he blushed scarlet before darting a glance around to make sure that he had not been overheard.

Elrond smiled, it felt better to know that his secret desire was not as serene as he seemed. Though it caused a sudden rush of blood to his warm loins to think that Erestor was ‘enthusiastic’ in matters of the flesh.

“I will tell you whom I desired if you tell me who holds your heart,” Erestor said conspiratorially.

Elrond replied in a casual tone, though his heart was hammering within dying to announce that he loved Erestor, “A bargain indeed. But I will not accept it.”

“Why so?” Erestor demanded, “Come, , we are alone. I have seen that Glorfindel and Thranduil know of this. Though I cannot pry anything from that wily prince, I can get it easily from Glorfindel. All I have to do is to get him drunk. He gets awfully confessional that time.”

Elrond paused walking, “You would not dare!”

“Oh, yes , I would!” Erestor smiled smugly, “Wait and see!” then his face harshened as he said quietly, “I would not. I respect Glorfindel too much to take advantage thus. Moreover I cannot pry into what you would not trust me willingly with. Goodnight, Elrond.”

 

________________________________________

* * *

Elrond watched lazily as Gil-Galad mindspoke with someone....must be Galadriel, Elrond thought bored. Glorfindel and Erestor had gone out riding. Gildor Inglorion had gifted Erestor a new stallion, which the counsellor had named Coal, for it was coal black in colour. Though it was not as magnificent as Ebony had been, Elrond saw that it was equally loyal and spirited.

“Gil,” Elrond threw a fork at the king making him snap out of his thoughts and start, “Is there any problem?”

“No, Elrond ,” Gil-Galad sighed, “I was telling Galadriel about the prince’s excursions here with his lover.”

“Was it necessary?” Elrond asked incredulously, “Both of them are not Galadriel’s wards or yours! Anyway it is not as if she cannot see it through her mirror.”

“The Princess of Lothlórien’s honour has been endangered, it is a serious concern, Elrond,” Gil-Galad said in a voice that brooked no argument. 

“Thranduil is too honourable to do anything of that sort,” Elrond said firmly, “He has given Erestor his word.”

The King said bluntly, “For one who has been deflowered by him, Elrond, you defend him very well. For my part, I do not trust the word of Thranduil Oropherion.”

“I have never regretted the deflowering, cousin,” Elrond said coldly, “Indeed I enjoyed it. We have a body because we are meant to find pleasure with it. Something that I thought you would appreciate after being away from your mate for twenty long years. But no, you have higher priorities like mindspeaking with Galadriel.”

“What do you imply?” Gil-Galad asked angrily.

“See Galadriel’s marriage, Gil. That is where yours will end up if you persist,” Elrond said frostily.

“But I am the King. The High-King,” Gil-Galad emphasized, “Nobody will dare approach my mate.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow before saying quietly, “You are the heir to your father’s house, cousin. But the claim to the high-king’s throne has always been that of the house of Fëanor. Never forget that. You know what has been the price the rest have paid for it, including your own father.”

“Lord Elrond The Wise, I must remind you that the house of Fëanor have never been worthy enough to lead the Noldor,” Gil-Galad sneered, “ Granted Maedhros was uncommonly handsome, and that Maglor was a gifted singer, but they had twisted minds and a cursed oath. You call them worthy?”

“I grew up in their fostering, Gil,” Elrond got to his feet silently, “I know them worthy. They became dispossessed because it was meant so in the song of Illuvatar. The same song has decreed that their house is the rightful holder of the Noldor throne.”

“Wise cousin,” Gil-Galad said dangerously, “If I pay for the high-kingship with my life, then so be it. But tell me, will you not do the same when you take up the throne?”

“I will do nothing of the sort,” Elrond said firmly, “Herald I am and Herald I shall remain.”

 

Thranduil rode at a canter up the narrow mountain pass. He shivered at the cold winds, winter was setting in. They would have to halt their monthly meetings soon. He did not want Anoriel risking these fell paths in the winter. 

Thranduil’s mare whinnied suddenly and he felt an alien presence in the surround. Not orcs or wolves or Sauron’s creatures, he decided as he probed with his mind gently. This was far more ancient and powerful. 

He suppressed a curse and hailed loudly, “Lady Galadriel!”

A moment later, Galadriel appeared at the head of the pass, mounted on a brown mare, her pale features enshrouded in a long silver cloak. 

Her eyes appraised Thranduil coldly before she bowed haughtily saying, “Young Prince Oropherion.” 

This was not his father’s realm and she knew it well. She did not have to bow to his authority. In this wild, it was a matter of who had more power. Though she did not doubt Gil-Galad’s tale, she knew that Thranduil was not old enough to have accumulated the wisdom that she had.

“My Lady, greetings,” Thranduil said politely, “May I ask you where you are bound for on this cold night?” 

He wondered if she would deliberately hurt him. No, he decided, she would not. She was here simply to test him, though he did not know the reason. But, he reprimanded himself, I should have thought of this after Erestor warned me that Elrond had told Gil-Galad of our escapade from the slavers’ hands . A cold wind blew and Thranduil shivered again.

“Come, Ernil,” Galadriel said in a superior tone, “let us seek shelter. I forget that you have not endured as many winters as I have nor have your forefathers crossed the great Ice.”

Thranduil said truthfully, “That is so, Lady, yet I am not so young. Has your husband not told you of warming my bed one night not so long ago?”

Galadriel remained impassive, yet the sudden flash of fury in her eyes told Thranduil that he had struck his mark. Good, he congratulated himself, he would survive this night somehow.

The lady turned her horse and rode away unmindful of the winds, Thranduil followed cursing her silently. She was not heading for the valley, nor to Lothlórien. She led her horse up a rarely used path that led to a small cave. Thranduil cursed again, he hated caves after their imprisonment by the slavers. Galadriel dismounted and led her mare into the cave. Thranduil followed suit. She watched silently as he unwrapped a saddlebag and took out dry twigs and flints. He lit a fire and pulled his cloak closer about himself as the wind intensified. 

“Strange to find a young princeling on these mountain paths on such a night,” Galadriel said softly, watching with amusement as he shivered again.

Thranduil spared her a withering glance before saying sharply, “You know where I was bound for. Let us not play cat and mouse. What is it that you want?”

“What is it that I want?” Galadriel said thoughtfully, “There are many things I want, princeling. But what I seek from you is revenge for that night with my noble husband.”

Thranduil looked at her worriedly, “Lady, I admit it was a mistake. But it is in the past now. How would you have me atone?”

Galadriel smiled, Thranduil Oropherion was as chivalrous as his father, it could well prove his downfall. Now it was time to truly make him sweat, she asked nonchalantly, “Princeling, if you thaw my ice tonight, I will consider the wrong forgiven.”

“I cannot touch a woman with that intent,” Thranduil said looking shocked, “I am about to be betrothed, and I have given my word to Anoriel that I will not think of any other woman thus.” 

“So you know well the sanctity of bonds,” Galadriel said sternly, “Yet you would touch a married man.”

Thranduil shrugged, “I apologize for my conduct regarding Celeborn. I respect him almost as much as I do my Ada. Indeed, he is as unto a father to me in many ways. I accept your anger, but not your moral lecture.”

A colder gale of wind howled outside and Thranduil began pacing the cave in a bid to warm himself. Galadriel smiled, the Prince reminded her in so many ways of her long dead brother, Finrod Felagund, who had met his death in the pits of Morgoth. The same frankness, chivalry and sharp thinking. Then Thranduil paused pacing to pet his uneasy mare, Galadriel’s smile vanished, he was different from her brother. Finrod had never shared a rapport with animals or trees, preferring the company of men which had led to his downfall.

“My Lady?” Thranduil’s voice had a tinge of impatience.

“Yes, Ernil ,” Galadriel asked enjoying the flash of irritation in those jade green eyes.

“If you have finished with your thinking, then perhaps you might wish me to settle down your mare. The poor creature is cold to the bones,” Thranduil said irritably. 

He did not wait for Galadriel’s permission as he led the mare to his own mare’s side and settled them down whispering smooth words in Sindarin. She watched as he took off his fur cloak and wrapped it around the flanks of the two mares. They nuzzled his hands gratefully. He patted their heads and then began pacing again.

Galadriel watched him trying to suppress a shudder as the winds became steadily colder. Perhaps she should take pity. He was young after all, she conceded. And she owed his father gratitude for her now happy marriage. 

“Come here, Ernil,” she asked him, “Take my cloak. I am used to the cold.”

“I will not deprive a lady of her cloak!” Thranduil said shocked, “Not even if you were living on the Ice.”

Galadriel laughed, humour glistening in her eyes after long years, she said warmly, “Come, princeling, atleast sit by me.” She watched with amused interest as he looked at her bewildered before unwillingly moving to sit beside her.

 

Oropher came down to the courtyard to meet the riders from Lothlórien. He wondered distractedly if his uncontrollable son had directly ventured to Amdir’s talan itself to seek his bride. A ridiculous vision of Amdir chaining his son and leading him to Greenwood rose in his mind.

“Lord Oropher,” a young flaxen haired elf bowed.

“Prince Amroth,” Oropher asked frowning, “Is there anything amiss?”

Amroth looked at a point above Oropher’s shoulder as he muttered, “Lady Galadriel has ridden in stead of Anoriel to meet your son this time. He does not know.”

Oropher sighed in frustration, between his son’s stubborn wooing and Amdir’s reluctant alliance, he had enough sleepless nights. Now, Galadriel would certainly add to it. Why did his son have to do everything the difficult way?

“Should we go to his aid?” Amroth asked fearfully mistaking Oropher’s irritation for worry.

“No, no, Amroth,” Oropher said shaking his head, “He will manage well on his own. Galadriel will not hurt him though she might hurt his considerable pride,” humour flashed in Oropher’s green eyes, “A night in each other’s company will help them learn a lot, I think.”

 

Galadriel watched the young prince toss about restlessly in his sleep mumbling his mother’s name over and over plaintively. The vulnerability and grief on his handsome features coupled with his shivering body thawed her usually cold mind and she rose to her feet. Unclasping her cloak, she laid it on his shivering form, watching satisfied as his hands pulled it closer. Smiling at her own behaviour, she sat down by him and sung softly, an old hunting song, she had learnt from her days spent with Maedhros and Fingon. 

“You sing well,” Thranduil mumbled drowsily, “Though the wind drowns your voice. Can’t you find sleep?” he snuggled into her cloak deeper and then realized what he was doing and wide-eyed, sat up apologizing, “Your cloak, I have no idea…”

“Hush, Ernil,” Galadriel said suppressing outright laughter at his startled expression, “You have broken my song,” she guided his head gently into her lap and began singing again softly of Orome and his hounds. 

The next day at dawn, Thranduil woke slowly to find Galadriel’s blue eyes crinkled in amusement at his sleepy-eyed face. He felt a smile breaking on his own features despite his healthy dislike of the Lady. 

“You know,” Galadriel watched smiling as Thranduil carefully avoided her eyes while getting up from her lap, “I have never done this before even while raising my own daughter.”

“That is as well,” Thranduil muttered as he folded her cloak neatly before handing it to her awkwardly, “Not many elflings would appreciate hunting songs as lullabies.”

“Nobody will believe this,” Galadriel stretched out her legs lazily unmindful of the hard floor that must have already ruined her dress.

“I stole your cloak, deprived you of your sleep and you were unusually charitable and forgiving, singing me to sleep,” Thranduil averted his eyes, “Nobody will believe it, I guess, you are too haughty usually.”

“Yes,” Galadriel nodded pensively, “I came to give you a hard time, I will not deny, but now I am glad that things are what they have come to. I did not foresee that the haughty prince of Greenwood could invoke maternal feelings I did not believe existed in me?”

Thranduil looked into her eyes astonished as he replied softly, “No woman has ever said so to me. I,” he faltered struggling to meet Galadriel’s steady gaze, “I have never hungered for a mother’s love. I know it is unfair, but I have the best father in elvendom. Those like Elrond and Erestor have been deprived of both their parents’ love. Am I not better off?”

“You may not need a second parent’s love. But it is yours if you wish ever,” Galadriel said quietly, then she smiled, “I do not know what draws me to make all these impassioned declarations to those from your house. Celeborn has endured many passionate speeches of mine during our courting.”

Thranduil laughed, “Indeed lady, I think you have a weakness for my father’s blood. As Elrond has a weakness for the house of Fëanor,” he watched sorrow cross her features, “Your daughter is walking into a mess.”

“No,” Galadriel sighed, “They are all honourable. My daughter will not suffer at their hands. She will have respect, if not love.”

“I know you have your reasons,” Thranduil said quietly, “But Gil-Galad is unaware of Elrond’s love as it stands now. If he knows, then things will be unpredictable. I do not wish for Erestor to suffer. He will bear the brunt of it.”

Galadriel smiled, “No, ,” she laughed at the irritation in his eyes, “You are young, Thranduil. You saved Erestor from Gil’s wrath before their marriage. But now, Elrond is wiser at hiding his feelings. He has come to accept his betrothal. You do not have to worry. If ever Gil knows of his real love, I will protect Erestor. He is also of my grandfather’s blood.”

Looking at the thoroughly disbelieving expression on his face, Galadriel laughed merrily, the ages disappearing from her gaunt face. 

Thranduil scowled and said firmly, “Though it is good to see you relaxed, I fear your mind has been disturbed. Now, I am riding home, Ada will worry. And so should you.”

Galadriel nodded and walked to him and raising herself to the toes, kissed his cheek tenderly whispering, “You have my affection whether you wish it or not, . Fear never to call upon it.”

 

Celeborn and Amdir watched with increasing apprehension as Galadriel rode into Cerin Amroth, dishevelled and tired.

“Are you all right?” Celeborn asked worriedly, helping her dismount. 

She hugged her husband before saying lightly, “I am tired, husband. Else, I am fine.”

“How did it go with Thranduil?” Amdir asked curiously taking in her dirty dress, “You look as if you had a tumble on the forest floor.”

Celeborn started and Galadriel said serenely, “We had a tumble, but unfortunately, Amdir, it was of a different kind, though pleasing indeed.”

She did not even tell Celeborn what had transpired in the cave. It was her secret for centuries afterwards, offering her a smile when things were at their worst. For his part, Thranduil kept their night at the Misty Mountains a mystery from everyone except his father. Though his criticism of Galadriel never weakened, it was often coloured by humour in the later days. 

 

Gil-Galad was summoned back to Lindon by the arrival of Elendil the tall, his sons and grandsons. Mordor was threatening the whole of Arda again. Erestor went with him while Lindir was in charge at Imladris. Elrond went to Lothlórien, escorted Galadriel and her daughter to Lindon for the high-king desired his aunt’s counsel greatly. Glorfindel accompanied Elrond, faithful to the vow he had sworn to the line of Idril. 

 

“You know,” Elrond said helpfully as Celebrían purposefully lagged behind yet again to keep away from her mother, “I could appoint you the rear guard.” She seemed even ready to tolerate him as long as she was away from her mother’s side.

Celebrían spared him a scornful stare before muttering, “If you had a mother like mine, you would have prayed for her to get the call of the sea, Lord.”

“’Bria,” he said teasingly, he had long decided that Celebrían was far less vicious than her mother, “I am glad that my mother did not prolong matters that much. I gave up on her long ago,” he sighed, “though she had sworn no oath, she was besotted by the gems.”

“Sometimes, ‘Rondie,” she taunted repaying him evenly for calling her by the pet name her father used, “I feel that you adopted the Fëanorians. For my part, I prefer my Sindarin ancestry to the Noldorin.”

“Well,” Elrond said thoughtfully, “I love my Sindarin ancestry well, but I would not be here but for the kindness of Maglor. Even Maedhros was quite kind to me and Elros, my twin.”

“Was he fell as my father says?” Celebrían asked curiously, “Or gentle as my mother says?”

“He was gentle with his kin, with his brother and with his followers,” Elrond said thoughtfully, “But he had endured much, and it had affected him. They say he was fell in war and council.”

“You know what,” Celebrían said peacefully, “We can make this marriage work, as long as we don’t have to breed. I enjoy your company.”

“As I do yours, ‘Bria,” Elrond placed his larger, darker palm on her white, elegant hand, “You can suffer me at daylight and seek anyone you wish at night.”

“Do you not mind truly?” She laughed at his frankness. 

Her mother was not going to be happy. But Celebrían truly had begun appreciating Elrond’s nobility. She had a queasy feeling that she did not even find herself disturbed by the thought of having his children. She could now see his strange beauty, with human earthiness and elven grace. There was an approachability about him that was not there with her playmates in Lothlórien. 

“Frankness,” Elrond grimaced, “Is an unfortunate after-effect of having slept with your royal cousin. Truly, I do not mind.”

“You slept with Thranduil!” she asked in surprise, “Never let my mother hear that! She told me you were a virgin.”

“I was,” Elrond admitted smiling, confiding in her was as easy as confiding in Thranduil, she did not judge, “I hope you are not scandalized.”

“I will break off the betrothal,” she began, and then laughed at his fear-struck face, “Unless you tell me how he was, you know, in bed.”

Elrond stopped riding involuntarily, too shocked to notice that his guards were looking curiously at his crimson face or that Celebrían was galloping away from him, a merry tinkle of laughter flowing from her fresh lips. He sighed, he did not need to ask anyone from which of her parents, she had inherited that wicked sense of humour.

 

 

________________________________________

* * *

“And I must have your documents ready for tomorrow. Glorfindel wants the patrol roster today. Gil wants the seating plans. Oropher wishes for a meeting the next week. Amdir is arriving at dusk. Eru only knows who will find the time to make the arrangements for the dwarven delegations arriving tomorrow,” Erestor continued to complain as he strode into Elrond’s study. 

A smudge of paint had been smeared on his face, at Elrond’s raised eyebrow, he cursed, “Glorfindel thought it would help ease my tension if he poured a bucketful of paint on me. But with his proverbial luck, he managed to empty the bucket on Anárion, Elendil’s younger son, who was walking with me.”

Elrond got to his feet from behind his overloaded desk and drew a chair for Erestor. The chief counsellor sank into it sighing. There were dark circles underneath his eyes again as well as the pallor of someone who has not seen daylight in days. 

“Gil’s overworking you,” Elrond murmured as he firmly massaged the tense shoulders, “Ask him to let you leave for Imladris and prepare for the great council. You are always in better spirits there.”

“Yes,” Erestor sighed, “But I cannot in good conscience leave Lindon when I know he cannot manage without me.”

“You mean as his mate?” Elrond asked curiously, “You and I have been working for days on end since the arrival of the Gondorians. And whenever we retired, it was in the after lunch hours.”

“I do not mean in that way,” Erestor mumbled, “Gil has never had a problem with me staying away from his bed because of work. In the beginning I tried to apologize, but he is, well, he has cooled down except for the public appearances’ sake. I meant my absence from the administration.”

“I would miss you,” Elrond admitted, “And you will leave us foundering in the councils.”

 

Before the council, Gil-Galad hosted a great ball in honour of his guests. But this was not like the victory banquet after Eregion. This had a sinister taste to it, with the men arrayed in armour, their faces cruel, the dwarves in their chain mail, their axes pinned to their belts and the elven lords silently conferring in the corners.

Gil-Galad opened the banquet with a smile that did not reach his eyes, despite the presence of his bonded-mate on his side. The King was attired in white, elegant robes that enhanced his natural beauty. 

To his right sat Erestor and to his left sat Elrond, his herald. To Elrond’s left sat his human kin, Elendil and his sons. Beyond them sat the dwarves led by mighty Durin of Moria. At the far end of the table, Galadriel had assumed the role of the hostess. To Erestor’s left sat Thranduil, who alone was representing Greenwood for the banquet. Beside him sat Amdir, who had finally given the go ahead for the engagement. Oropher remained behind in Greenwood readying the lands for what he promised to be the mightiest of all revelries in Middle Earth. Celeborn was with his cousin.

Gil-Galad looked over at Galadriel and smiled. She tapped her silver spoon against the plate and the dishes began to be served. 

Gil-Galad watched as she talked politely with Durin and his kin, her blue eyes twinkling with good humour. His gaze wandered over to the men, Elendil was engaged in a conversation with Elrond. Gil-Galad smiled proudly as he watched his heir explain patiently his complicated heritage to a befuddled Elendil. Isildur was conversing in a low voice with Anárion, his handsome, yet dark, features set in a scowl. 

Gil-Galad moved his gaze to his right. Amdir was talking with Glorfindel, seated near him, merrily. Thranduil and Erestor were silently fighting over the plum pie, which was being decimated at an alarming rate. Gil-Galad admired Erestor’s deep scarlet robes that brought out his pale features so strikingly. Though right now, Erestor was scowling at Thranduil as the Prince neatly snatched a piece from Erestor’s hands.

“They are both connoisseurs of that pie,” Elrond remarked catching Gil-Galad’s unnerved look, “My apologies for their lack of table manners,” he spoke to Elendil smiling.

“No,” Elendil laughed, “The pie is almost over,” he remarked, “And they are fighting over the last piece.”

Thranduil and Erestor looked at each other and spoke at the same time unwillingly, “You take it.”

They stopped their silent wait as they heard their neighbours laugh aloud.

“Is it at our expense?” Erestor asked an eyebrow raised that reminded Elrond of Maglor so. 

“It is indeed,” Amdir noted, “For you are worse than elflings squabbling over a trifle.”

Erestor lifted his head haughtily as Thranduil offered him the last morsel. Gil-Galad laughed and leant over to kiss him on the mouth. Elrond hissed in warning, these humans did not approve of single gender love, from what he had seen of them. Not all men were as open to these relationships as Aldor’s clan had been.

Erestor pulled back, his eyes meeting Elrond’s in sudden fear. Thranduil and Amdir were still talking quietly in Sindarin, though the Prince’s eyes flicked over to Elendil worriedly.

“The food is excellent,” Elendil offered politely as he broke the sudden silence.

“Indeed,” Thranduil joined conversation smoothly, “The cooks have outdone themselves, Lord Gil-Galad. I find myself much tempted by your pies.”

“And are all elves tempted only by pies?” Isildur asked scornfully, his spoon clattering down onto his plate.

Elendil’s hand ghosted onto his son’s clenched fist. But Isildur was still staring at Gil-Galad in revulsion.

“Prince Isildur,” Elrond said apologetically, “Our customs and laws vary. In our realms, love between two souls is a cause of celebration. Lord Erestor is my cousin’s bonded-mate.”

Isildur said harshly, “So the Elven King chooses his counsellors after bedding them.”

Erestor looked over at Gil-Galad, but the King said quietly, “My apologies, Prince Isildur.”

Anárion sneered, “So my brother has hit the truth,” he looked over at Erestor disdainfully, “This is the famous Chief Counsellor’s dirty secret. Favours granted for unnatural practices.”

Erestor looked again at Gil-Galad who sat stonily.

Elrond broke in, “Lord Anárion, you do not understand our customs. Lord Erestor is the king’s lover.”

“So he is not as abased as we humans consider whores?” Anárion finished, “Maybe not, for he surely chooses the best.”

The rest of the table was watching the conversation tentatively. Glorfindel was being restrained by Círdan who sat next to him. Thranduil’s hand had clasped Erestor’s in a show of support. Elrond felt a stab in his heart as he watched Erestor’s pain at Gil-Galad’s silent betrayal.

“Prince Anárion,” Erestor spoke after a long moment, the full weight of his gaze resting on the human, “I assure you that I have no need of abasing myself thus to be the chief counsellor. I am a proven warrior and a counsellor and I am ready to defend my worth.”

Isildur snarled, “My brother shall not lift his sword against a whore!”

Elendil looked at Elrond despairingly. 

“Lord Isildur,” Durin’s deep voice broke in, “It is unseemly to insult your host underneath his own roof just because your customs differ.”

“Tell me not what to say, uncouth smith,” Isildur sneered. The dwarves with Durin began muttering angrily, but Galadriel and Durin held them back.

“I will not consider my friend’s insult light,” Thranduil remarked as he sipped his wine, “He is the last heir of the elder house of Finwë, a house that has suffered much in their relentless fight against the enemy. I would duel you to death, Lord Anárion, if it was not for the fact that you lead a people. However I will ask for first blood.”

“And what right have an uncivilized wood elf to talk of duels to me?” Anárion demanded angrily.

“Mortal prince, what right do you have to insult the last scion of the true line of Ingwë, High-King of Aman?” Galadriel spoke softly.

Anárion opened his mouth angrily, but Elendil broke in saying, “My apologies on my son’s behalf, Lady.”

“I accept the duel in my brother’s stead,” Isildur said firmly despite Elrond’s and Elendil’s warning looks, “Name your place and time, wood elf, so that you may die defending that whore’s honour. Perhaps you too have partaken of him.”

Amdir cut in sharply, “I wish that you take back this insult, human, for Prince Thranduil is the noblest of us Eldar remaining in Middle-Earth in his lineage. I demand an apology.”

Isildur said haughtily, “I see not why I should apologize to one so besotted by the charms of a dubious nature.”

Erestor got to his feet and bowed saying, “It is folly to stay any longer when conversation has become so poor. I will retire now,” ignoring Gil-Galad’s imploring looks, he walked away, his back ramrod straight. 

“If Prince Thranduil had not claimed the right of duel, I would have done so,” Glorfindel said harshly as he shot Gil-Galad a sharp glance before leaving the hall. Círdan followed him murmuring his excuses. 

Gil-Galad looked at Elrond, who said quietly to Elendil, “I mean no offence, but the Prince will do better to reject the duel.”

“I cannot hold him back,” Elendil murmured softly. 

“It is indeed my misfortune to have to defeat one as fair as one of our women,” Isildur taunted. 

Thranduil raised his goblet saying graciously, “I am honoured by your comparison, Lord.” 

Elrond bit back a smile at Thranduil’s nonchalance, but he had reason enough to frown as the prince continued blithely, “But I am sad that I cannot repay your comment frankly, Lord Isildur.”

“Prince Thranduil,” Gil-Galad broke in, “I will not have my guests insulted.”

“Lord Gil-Galad,” Amdir broke in, “I will not have my kin insulted.”

Elrond said pleadingly, “The King meant that he would not allow insults by anyone at this table. Cease, and let us enjoy the food and the wine.”

Amdir nodded curtly to Elrond before getting to his feet and walking away stiffly. Thranduil followed suit though with more grace. Elrond glanced at Galadriel who had held the other end of the table without mishaps. 

“Leave, I will take charge” her voice told him though her eyes were focussed on Durin merrily as he related an anecdote. 

Elrond hesitated but her next words were enough to decide his course of action, he is in the library, and will need you. Elrond made his excuses and left hastily.

 

He made his way to the large halls of the library. Erestor was at a window, looking out blankly. His gaze seemed to be more inward than outward.

Elrond approached him quietly.

“Elrond,” Erestor turned to face him, his black eyes filled with pain, humiliation and fear, “Do you think I made a mistake? You warned me once. And so did Glorfindel.”

Elrond stood next to him and said softly, “Isildur is a fool, Thranduil will humble him.”

“Answer me, Elrond!” Erestor begged, doubts rising in his eyes as he averted them from Elrond.

“You were right to accept Gil’s proposal, he loves you. But he has always borne the title of the High-King. And that makes him suffer the hurts of those close to him as he has to remain impartial,” Elrond said gently, tightening his hand’s grip on Erestor’s shoulder.

Tears fell down the pale cheeks that Elrond admired as Erestor whispered, “What is the worth of a love that cannot make him speak for me? Thranduil loves me more, for he was moved enough by my plight to avenge me. I waited, waited desperately for him to answer to those accusations. He did not, he sat as unmoved as cold stone.”

Elrond did not reply as he gathered Erestor into his arms tightly letting him weep his sorrow away. Elrond knew that he would have killed Gil had they not been cousins. How could anyone be so blind to their bonded-mate’s plight and still claim love?

“Did I make a mistake, Elrond?” Erestor asked again.

Elrond’s tears fell onto Erestor’s forehead and the chief counsellor’s hands snaked comfortingly about him. They stood in silence, the rise and fall of their hearts the only sound in the room. From the threshold of the room, Gil-Galad watched with an inscrutable expression on his face. He turned sharply and found himself facing Galadriel.

“You should have defended him,” she said quietly.

“I,” he paused, “I had a duty to my guests.”

“Once you told me that pride is not worth the price of a marriage, Gil,” she paused, “I tell you the same. He is far more important than your guests.”

“He will not be able to forgive me,” Gil-Galad turned back to watch his cousin soothing Erestor gently.

“He will, Gil, my cousin Macalaurë had a very forgiving heart, and his son will have the same heart,” Galadriel sighed, “I pray that it will not be his failing as it had been his father’s.” 

“What shall I do about Thranduil’s challenge?” Gil-Galad ran his fingers over his sword absently, “I cannot let that proud human be defeated. It would endanger the alliances which are frail enough.”

“You cannot do anything about that,” Galadriel smiled wryly, “To ask Thranduil to withdraw is folly unless you wish to oppose the Sindar strength. They are united. And moreover even the Noldor are considering themselves insulted. Allegiance to the house of Fëanorions deep in our blood, Gil. It has become a case of elven pride. Isildur will have to resign himself to a humiliating defeat.”

Her words were proved true as the human lost to Thranduil miserably in the duel, the crown prince of Greenwood had fought only with his weaker left hand, so confident had he been. 

Erestor, who had been seated next to Círdan, rose to his feet and gracefully accepted Isildur’s haughty apology. But those close to him saw that the pain in those black eyes was yet not subdued.

 

“Lords of the free people of Middle-Earth,” Gil-Galad began gravely, “We are here to discuss the ever growing threat of Sauron. Our human allies in Gondor have suffered much at Mordor’s hands, and the King of Gondor himself has come to this council.”

Elendil acknowledged Gil-Galad with a curt nod and began a long and impassioned speech of Sauron’s menace in the western provinces. 

“Lord Elendil,” Durin cut in, “What you speak of is the darkness under which every free soul struggles. It is not confined to Gondor alone.”

“Yet it is Gondor that suffers the worst,” Isildur barked sharply, disregarding Elendil’s hand on his wrist.

“Prince Isildur,” Elrond said firmly, “We understand Gondor’s peril, more so because we have ourselves fought longer against the enemy than you have, though with the same success.”

“Call you our race young and unworthy, Lord Peredhil?” Isildur asked snarling. 

“Young, yes,” Elrond looked over at Erestor who had remained adamantly silent where he would have normally been using his talented diplomacy skills, “But I will never call my brother’s race unworthy.”

Isildur began to say something but Durin cut in again saying, “Come, Lord Isildur, we need to act now, and decide! This argument will lead us nowhere!”

‘Why are we suffering from Sauron’s menace? Because of the elves and their greed!” Anárion said loudly, “It is they who should ride against him and not us, the lesser races!”

Elrond groaned silently as Glorfindel retorted, “Those who have not yet learnt wisdom would do better to remain silent.”

“The Dwarves will join this war though we shall not abide by elven command,” Durin said steadily. 

“Never would we ask you to abide by our commands when there are so many worthy leaders in your own flanks,” Elrond said bowing to Durin.

Elendil said loudly, “So will Gondor though our conditions are different.”

“And what may those be?” Glorfindel asked.

“The crown prince of Gondor wishes for an elven consort while he is away from his family on the battlefield,” Elendil said quietly, his eyes meeting Gil-Galad’s.

“For someone who saw our customs just the last night, Prince Isildur is large hearted,” Thranduil remarked.

“He may choose his consort from my warriors,” Gil-Galad said wearily, Elendil’s sons would drive him mad.

Isildur got to his feet and walked slowly, pausing before Gil-Galad as he said, “Then Gondor will fight this war, Lord.”

 

“He is mad!” Glorfindel said furiously as he burst into Elrond’s study later that day, “What was Gil thinking?”

“Gil needs the men to make the alliance work, they are great warriors despite Isildur’s nonsense,” Elrond muttered as he rubbed his eyes tiredly, “That prince is more evil than Sauron himself sometimes.”

“I hope you are not talking of me,” Thranduil leapt in through the window and stretched himself before the fireplace languidly.

“No,” Glorfindel paused his pacing to kick Thranduil’s ribs experimentally, he winced as his toe jarred against hard bone, “You need to regain your health soon, my prince. You are weaker than you used to be.”

“Yes,” Thranduil said emphatically, “I will need my strength soon! And I cannot fail.”

“So you are worried about the war?” Elrond asked curiously looking at Thranduil, “I had expected you to be the least concerned amongst us!”

“Not the war, you idiot,” Thranduil rolled his eyes, “I mean my betrothal! I need to look my best there, Anoriel looks very resplendent these days, I cannot afford to look like an unworthy mate!” 

“So you remain unconcerned about the war?” Glorfindel asked amazed, as Thranduil started humming a soft tune.

“The war, Glorfindel, we will win the war when we have a Balrog Slayer around! Do you think the dwarves would have pledged their aid for a cause they did not consider likely to triumph?” Thranduil reasoned, “No, the only thing I worry about is the fidelity of your alliance with Gondor.”

The door opened and Erestor arrived, looking harried than usual. He slumped into the chair across Elrond and said wearily, “I could strangle him with my own bare hands!”

“What did he do now?” Elrond asked sympathetically pouring Erestor a cup of tea. 

Erestor sighed, “He came to our chambers, I was talking about the alliance proposal from the Dunedlings to Gil. He just barged in and reminded Gil of his promise. Gil whispered his excuses to me and left the room leaving me alone with that rascal. He wanted the fool to discuss matters with his chief-counsellor. And that fool said he wished the High-King’s consort to be his consort!”

Glorfindel shouted, “WHY! HOW DARE HE! I WILL GO AND STRIP OFF HIS INNARDS!”

Erestor shook his head wryly, “I doubt that would be beneficial to the alliances.”

“What did you say?” Elrond asked him his heart hammering, “I wish that I could pound some sense into Gil. He is so easily manipulated by Galadriel’s wiles.”

“She has not part in this,” Erestor said forlornly, “I said Gil’s promise extended only to his own warriors and not to his courtiers. He refused to see reason, so I got tired, drew my sword, exited the rooms, came here.” he rested his head on his hands sombrely, “I would have Gil’s innards for this had it not been such a crisis. Now, of all times, we cannot afford infighting.”

“Only the dwarves have demanded nothing,” Elrond noted.

“No,” Glorfindel smiled tightly, “They have demanded a lock of Galadriel’s golden hair. She was very busy charming them since yesterday. But then she has always got along well with them.”

 

________________________________________

* * *

Elrond watched the banners of Imladris swaying in the wind. As the herald, he rode beside the High-King, his right hand gripped tightly over the standard of the Noldor. He looked up at the noble silver standard fluttering lightly in the wind. 

“Worried?” Gil-Galad’s voice broke him from his musings. Elrond turned back again for the last time. He saw long lines of faithful elven warriors prepared to follow their king to the very gates of Mordor. 

“How many of us will return safely?” Elrond said feeling frightened. 

He looked at Galdor kissing Menelwen goodbye, whose curved tummy indicated growing life within. He looked about and saw Gildor Inglorion’s wandering company bid their families farewell. Just behind him he could see Erestor embracing his sister gently. Glorfindel was waiting for his friend to mount his stallion impatiently, his eyes avoiding Menelwen defiantly. Elrond saw the young elf refugee from Eregion, Melpomaen, look at the gathered warriors in awe and longing. Elrond did not sympathize. He was grimly happy that he would not have to watch the young elf riding to war.

“Lord Elrond,” Círdan said ironically, “Mayhap you are not feeling yourself?”

Elrond shot him a venomous look before turning to face Gil-Galad once again. 

The King sighed and said quietly, “Elrond, I wish I could assure you that all of us will return unharmed. But you know well it cannot be. Atleast you and I have a reason to make it back. You have to marry and I have to salvage my bond,” Gil-Galad turned to find Erestor and Glorfindel riding side-by-side, their frosty looks directed at him made him turn back quickly again, “He will not hear of anything regarding our marriage till this war is over.”

“If I were him,” Elrond said angrily, “I would not give you that concession. You are lucky he puts the alliance above his own happiness.”

“Isildur will be our downfall yet,” Gil-Galad said unhappily, “Elrond, how can anyone so sullied be your kin? It is sickening to hear our warriors scream at night from his tent. Why does he just not choose one and be satisfied?”

“We should slit his throat,” Elrond said vehemently. 

“For once, I agree,” Círdan said with equal anger in his cold voice, “At this rate he will ruin our best fighters far long before we reach the enemy’s keep.”

“Quiet now, for the King and his sons approach,” Gil-Galad whispered. 

Elendil and his sons came to the front. Anárion remained silent and by his father’s side as the human king spoke to Gil-Galad. Círdan drew back to Erestor’s side leaving Elrond with Isildur. 

“You look handsome today, Herald,” Isildur said, his eyes roving on Elrond’s armour clad body.

“I beg your pardon,” Elrond said with a strained smile, “I am sure that you meant it well, but it seems awkward to hear such a comment from my brother’s descendant.”

“Your brother was wiser and braver than you were, Lord Elrond, for he chose right,” Isildur remarked coldly.

“I have never regretted my choice, so I cannot say that I did not choose right,” Elrond said quietly. 

His heart lifted as they changed course to Greenwood. The festivity of the wood elves who came to greet them was alarmingly contagious. Though most of the human warriors progressed slowly onwards to the east, the elven warriors and the dwarvish contingents from Moria wend their way slowly deeper within the rejoicing forests.

The elven host was greeted by Thalion and Celeborn. The nobles were led into Oropher’s fortress, which was tastefully decorated and lit. Erestor was discreetly led away by one of Anoriel’s maids. Elrond made his way to Thranduil’s chambers as he was well acquainted with these halls after his stay here. 

He knocked once before entering, the eagerness to see the prince overwhelming him. Thranduil had his back to him as he watched raptly through the window. Elrond approached him quietly and slipped his arms around the Prince’s waist tightly before proceeding to bestow a lick upon the elegantly pointed ear tip. Thranduil struggled futilely to escape his grip. Elrond closed his eyes lazily and drew Thranduil’s lips for a deep kiss. The Prince tasted slightly of herbal tea and cinnamon unlike the usual taste of pine and Dorwinion.

Elrond whispered as he leant over the slender shoulder, “What is my fair prince watching?”

He immediately let go of his grip and turned the figure around to find himself staring at Oropher. Elrond blushed furiously and backed away. 

The Sindar king looked mortified judging by his stunned features , however he said composedly, “Welcome back to Greenwood, Elrond.”

“I am sorry, Lord Oropher,” Elrond cringed as he looked once more at Thranduil walking with Anoriel in the gardens, “I thought you were him.”

Oropher smiled ironically, “I am pleased that you mistook me for my handsome son, though I daresay we are both glad that you stopped where you did.”

Elrond looked away, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Oropher, however came nearer and lifted up Elrond’s chin saying, “I am not angry, though I must admit I was stunned. Come, Elrond, let me show you our betrothal arrangements.”

 

Erestor waited patiently for Anoriel to return. He idly walked about the large room, looking at the various half-done portraits. Art had never been his strength, still he could see that Anoriel was a fine painter.

“Lord Erestor?” Celebrían addressed him as she walked in suddenly, “What are you doing here?”

“Lady Celebrían,” Erestor bowed, “I was merely waiting for Anoriel for she had wanted to see me.”

“She will return now, will you not call me by my name?” Celebrían asked smiling, “After all you call my father by name, I have heard.”

Erestor smiled and said quietly, “If you would agree to return the favour, then Celebrían it shall be.”

“Has Elrond come?” Celebrían asked enthusiastically, “I have been looking forward to see him again.”

“I thought you did not get along well,” Erestor said looking into her eyes searchingly.

“Oh! We get along famously after he assured me that he is also in the same quandary,” Celebrían laughed, “If we have to consent to this binding atleast we can learn to suffer each other’s company.”

Erestor laughed saying, “I think that ploy will not work in Lothlórien or Lindon where you will be watched by everyone.”

“Yes, Erestor, I was about to ask you, would you mind if I shifted to Imladris after the marriage? Elrond told me that he loves the place above Lindon. I don’t like Lindon myself,” Celebrían said honestly.

“I would be glad of the company and moreover I can make more escapes to Lindon to be with Gil if Elrond assumes charge in the valley,” Erestor kissed her hand lightly, “Though you might need to talk of this with your parents and the King.” 

“Erestor!” Anoriel rushed in and hugged him impulsively, “It is wonderful to see you.”

“If my presence moves you to such delight then I shudder to think of what you are like in the prince’s presence,” Erestor said teasingly as a blush bloomed on her cheeks, “Why did you summon me?”

“Oh! Erestor,” Anoriel said averting her eyes, “I wished to do a robe for Oropher, you know, for the betrothal. But I do not have his measurements. Would you please, please….?”

“Measure Oropher?” Erestor raised an eyebrow, “You are determined to get me exiled, Anoriel, let me try. No promises, though. Why didn’t you just ask your lovesick fiancé?”

Celebrían said laughing, “They are too busy with other matters, Erestor, to think of such things as measurements.”

Anoriel blushed but did not reply. She went to her wardrobe and took out a set of neatly folded robes and handed them to Erestor muttering, “I made these for you, you know, if you would wear it at the ceremony.”

“I hate to tell you we are leaving for war after the ceremony,” Erestor said gently, “So after the ceremony, you will have to save it for me till I can come and reclaim it. Now,” he continued blithely watching the distraught expressions on the ladies’ faces at the reminder of war, “When do you want the king’s measurements?”

“Today evening, Erestor, at the latest,” Anoriel begged him.

 

Elrond watched sleepily as Erestor barged into his chambers, saying aloud, “You are lucky not to have a sister!”

“Why so?” Elrond said idly flipping open the book on medicine Thalion had lent him, “I thought they give sentimental farewells.”

“That they do,” Erestor grumbled as he flopped down onto the bed on his back next to Elrond, “But they ask for the moon so prettily that you cannot refuse them.”

Elrond put his book aside and took the liberty of resting his head on Erestor’s slender chest, “What happened?”

“Anoriel wants Oropher’s measurements before this eve, Do you know of a way to steal one of his robes?” Erestor said hopefully, his fingers threading through Elrond’s hair.

“Is it not easier for her to get it from Thranduil?” Elrond had blushed at the very mention of Oropher’s name.

“She is too concentrated on the Prince’s measurements when they are together,” Erestor huffed, “Elrond, whatever shall I do?”

Elrond felt mischief rise in him as he said impishly raising his head to look at Erestor, “I can give you Oropher’s sizes if you co-operate!”

Erestor raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway, saying, “As long as I get the measurements before dusk!”

“Get to your feet and go stand before the mirror,” Elrond ordered him. Erestor’s eyebrows shot higher, but he complied nevertheless.

Erestor began saying dubiously, “I did not want my measurements, Elrond!” as Elrond’s wrists snaked around his waist encircling him with a measuring tape. Elrond was, however, too absorbed by the position of his hands on Erestor’s waist. Finally, he said, “This is the waist size!”

“Whatever gives you such an idea?” Erestor said disbelievingly as Elrond began measuring his shoulder span, “Has Thranduil got you drunk already?” he sniffed Elrond’s breath suspiciously. 

“No, today morning, I went to his room to greet him. Unfortunately I greeted Oropher,” Elrond confessed as he jotted down the measurements, “So each of my finger’s position on his body is etched into my mind. Getting his measurements will not be a problem.”

“You did not touch him?” Erestor turned sharply to look at Elrond in awe.

“Kissed him actually,” Elrond admitted, “My heart stopped for a moment when I saw who it was.”

Erestor laughed weakly before turning back to the mirror whispering, “Was he stunned?”

“Why ask?” Elrond covered his face in Erestor’s dark hair mortified. For a few moments, he relished the quiet presence of his heart’s desire. Erestor’s hands clasped Elrond’s in a simple sign of comradeship.

“Can you touch the tip of your nose with your tongue?” Erestor asked after a while.

“Why would I try that?” Elrond raised an eyebrow at Erestor’s reflection in the mirror incredulously.

“Thranduil said if an elf can do that, then he or she will be a great kisser,” Erestor replied promptly.

Elrond shoved Erestor playfully before muttering, “I think I don’t need to prove my kissing skills for you, ‘Restor. You should be concerned only by Gil’s talent.”

But after Erestor had left, Elrond surreptiously went before his mirror and tried to reach the tip of his nose with his tongue futilely. He would have to practise this.

 

Oropher smiled at his exhausted cousin, who had taken on the brunt of the arrangements for the wedding. 

“You can laugh, cousin,” Celeborn said disdainfully, “You should have thought of writing an ‘Entry by Invitation Only’ at the borders. Eru knows what we will do once the place is marauded by the dwarves, lakemen, and giant bears!”

“Beorn has come?” Oropher asked curiously, “My son has his friendship, I have heard.”

“Your son slept with him?” Celeborn groaned, “Not that I would have difficulty in believing it. He can persuade a dwarf into his bed if he sets his mind on it.”

“I hope he does not take that idea into his wild head,” Oropher shuddered, “Cousin, I was going to ask you to stand in my stead at the ceremony. I will stand in his mother’s stead.”

“As you wish, I would be honoured,” Celeborn said solemnly.

 

Thranduil smiled at Galadriel, who was walking towards him, a hesitant expression on her face.

“Shall we move from these crowds?” she asked him in a low voice.

Thranduil said innocently, “Shall it take a cave again to arouse your maternal instincts?”

“Princeling!” Galadriel said indignantly, “You overstep your limits as usual.”

“Why do you persist in calling me a princeling when I am already in the early stages of planning for a family?” Thranduil asked curiously, “You never call cousin Celebrían thus though she is barely a century older than me!”

“I can call her my daughter,” Galadriel smiled, “if I call you my son Oropher will not be very forgiving,” she paused, “Moreover you are very young compared to me. At your age, my only activity in life was to go hunting and camping with my cousins.”

Thranduil said besotted, “I think of fields of Aman whenever I see her hair, flaxen, peaceful!”

Galadriel laughed as she took in his obvious impatience to get back to Anoriel. She then began falteringly, none of the usual confidence of the proud daughter of Finarfin in her voice, “Would you accept a gift from me? In Aman, it was considered ill-luck to not receive your first wedding gift from your mother.”

“We are not in Aman,” Thranduil said quietly, but seeing her crest-fallen expression an instant before she hid it by a mask of cold composure, he said gently, “I would but receive gladly any gift that you would deign to give me.”

Galadriel stopped walking and drew out a small chest from within her cloak. Thranduil took it from her hands and opened it. In the moonlight, shone a green stone the colour of his eyes. He had never seen such a jewel even amongst the Noldor nobles. It was very obvious that the stone did not hail from Middle-Earth. 

He looked up at Galadriel, and said quietly, “I do not think I deserve this as a gift, it seems to have passed through the ages lending you strength in sorrows.”

“It has,” Galadriel sighed, “It was wrought by my cousin Celegorm during our childhood in Tirion. He gave it to his love, Aredhel, who loved the wildness of nature the most amongst us. However when he gave her mightier gifts, this passed to me. I have held it close for all these ages, the stone reminding me of happier times of my life. This stone however pales in the light from your eyes and I feel that I no longer need it. Keep it with you and let it keep you safe, for it was hallowed by Elbereth herself in those blissful times. When there are hard times ahead, as there will be, let it offer you a measure of solace.”

“You give me a rich gift which I cannot repay,” Thranduil said sincerely, “But would you stand in my mother’s stead for the ceremony?”

“I..,” Galadriel turned away, “I am loath to risk bring on the curse of my house onto yours, Thranduil. You have my love in your mother’s stead, as insufficient as it is.”

Thranduil grasped her right hand warmly saying, “The Valar will not curse me or you for such a simple thing.”

“It is not a simple thing that you ask of me, Thranduil, and we both know that well,” Galadriel sighed.

“I am stubborn,” Thranduil assured her, “Prepared to stand and persuade you till the remaking of the worlds.”

Galadriel smiled weakly, “That you might do, I fear. Let me speak to your Adar regarding this.”

“I will go to the forge and have your gift set in my sword,” Thranduil smiled and left quickly. 

 

Galadriel knocked on Oropher’s study door. To her pleasant surprise, her husband opened it. She greeted him with an embrace and walked in. Oropher was behind his huge oaken desk, surveying the seating plans. He looked up and smiled at her, motioning her to take a seat. Celeborn drew a chair for her before seating himself in a chair by her side.

“What brings you to the control chamber for the betrothal preparations?” Oropher asked her as he poured out a fine vintage for her. There were half-empty glasses before him and Celeborn.

“A request, Lord Oropher,” she had thought that she had forgotten how to stammer, but now she realized that she could still stutter like a young man asking an woman for a first dance.

Oropher raised his head from the plans and looked at her curiously. Celeborn asked bluntly, “You are in a worse state than the first time you crept into my bedroom. What is it?”

“I wish I was allowed to stand in stead of Thranduil’s mother,” she stammered very fast, unwilling to meet Celeborn’s and Oropher’s eyes. They were looking at her as if they suspected she had lost her sanity finally.

“Er..Altariel,” Celeborn called her that only when she was suspected to be in a very fragile state, “We did not understand.”

“I mean it, I would be extremely happy to do it, he is as a son unto me,” she finished uncertainly, “If both of you would not mind it, that is.”

Celeborn looked at his cousin helplessly as if admitting that Oropher’s argument that everyone in the house of Finwë loses their sanity at a point in their lives with certainty was proved true. 

Oropher said carefully, “I am honoured, of course. But…”

“ADA!” there was a shout from outside followed by Thranduil leaping in through the window.

“My wild son,” Oropher acknowledged defeated, “I must ask you to stop doing this in Amdir’s talan, he will start a war.”

Thranduil rushed forward and kissed his father’s forehead before announcing, “I want her in my mother’s stead. She was kind enough to agree.”

Celeborn looked at his wife saying, “I do not want to know what happened in that cave, Galadriel. It seems to have made you both slightly mad.”

“My son was already on the road to madness,” Oropher ran his fingers over Thranduil’s head lightly, “What have we condemned poor Anoriel to?”

 

Elrond opened his chest absently. He planned to stow away all that he did not need in Thranduil’s rooms and claim them after the war, if he returned. He had no space for his lore books and medical chests. As he rummaged through the debris of the centuries, he snatched a piece of parchment in an oddly familiar writing, his twin’s. Elrond closed his eyes, his twin had died a mortal death centuries ago. Still, he wished to know what had been written, he opened the parchment, it was dated the winter before their coming of age.

Dear Russandol,  
I find that my heart beats for you, I love you and I wish to claim you,  
Hoping that you would cooperate,  
Elros Earendillion.

Elrond unfolded the parchment with increasing disbelief. Beneath his twin’s bold, brash lines was Maedhros’s queer left-handed script.

Pitya,  
I have no idea what made you write this letter and give it through my guards. It has been a long time since I have been thus boldly propositioned. It is pleasing though I find myself doubting your eyesight and sanity. Rest assured that I will send you with the wandering company the next time you call me ‘Russandol’.  
Apologizing for my non-cooperation,  
Nelyafinwë.

Elrond folded the letter and placed it within one of his books, drying a tear from his eyes. His twin had a crush on Maedhros, Elrond had known it. But he had never in his wildest dreams thought that Elros would pursue their foster father’s elder brother so brashly. 

Elrond knew that he would not get rest this night, his dreams haunted by the past and its regrets. He made his way to the large hall, looking for company. Thranduil was standing alone near the fire, swirling the wine in his goblet absently.

“My prince,” Elrond approached him softly.

“Elrond, I could not sleep,” Thranduil gave a wry smile, “I suppose I scared Amroth, who has been given the next chamber, out of his wits with my screams.”

“Come, I too cannot find rest,” Elrond leant his head against Thranduil’s shoulder, “Let us talk the night away. I feel a strong grip of melancholy this night in a way I have rarely felt before.”

Thranduil looked at him critically before saying firmly, “You are in need of rest, come, let us go to my room and hold each other in sleep. We will be less disturbed by the ghosts of the past.”  
________________________________________

* * *

Celeborn helped Thranduil dress in the fine robes that Lord Ingwë had sent for the occasion across the sea along with several other gifts. Thranduil was fidgeting about like an elfling as Celeborn braided his hair in the style of Elu Thingol’s house. 

“It will be all right,” Celeborn said in an attempt to stop the endless fidgeting, “You do not have to worry.”

“I want to get this over,” Thranduil said pouting, “I am tired of waiting, come, Celeborn, let us go down to the gardens.”

“You are not supposed to enter until you have been announced,” Celeborn chided him as he wove green gems into Thranduil’s hair, “Now stay still while I do your boots.”

 

Elrond was seated in one of the foremost rows, beside him sat a noble from Lothlórien on the left and Thalion on the right. 

“I am amazed that the Ernil has not escaped Celeborn’s clutches yet,” Thalion remarked as he sipped a potent wine he had chosen from the tray-bearers, “It will be good to see him docile and orderly for a change.”

Elrond twirled his goblet as he said uncertainly, “Knowing him I cannot think that you would see him thus.”

Gil-Galad and Erestor arrived, their faces looking grim despite the festivity of the occasion, yet they sat together. Elrond suppressed a sympathetic groan as Galadriel sat next to Erestor. This was going to be one of Erestor’s foul-tempered days. Glorfindel was already ‘testing’ the various vintage ales that Oropher had bought from Laketown. The Balrog Slayer was assisted in this task by a large band of enthusiastic young dwarves. 

“Lord Oropher, King of Greenwood,” the herald hailed as Oropher entered the gardens, Celebrían escorting him proudly. He was clad in light mauve silk that made the years look lighter on him. There was proud happiness in those green eyes as he bowed to Gil-Galad and Durin and took his seat in the front row. 

“Princess Anoriel, led by her father, King Amdir of Lothlórien,” the herald continued. Elrond turned to watch Anoriel walk slowly, her father’s hand leading her proudly. She was clad in a sheer white silk gown, that fell gracefully off her smooth figure. Her tresses were braided intricately in the design of her house, and when she smiled, Elrond was sure that she was the image of Melian herself.

Oropher stood as the lady walked up the raised platform where the ceremony was to be performed. Amdir and his wife were on either side of their daughter. 

Thalion said softly, “She is beautiful, within and without.”

Elrond nodded fervently. She was beautiful; her joy lighting her radiant outer beauty. 

“Prince Thranduil,” the herald announced, “led by Lord Celeborn, kin to the royal family of Green Wood.”

The onlookers gasped collectively as the Prince arrived, led by Celeborn. The lord of Lothlórien was dressed in magnificent blue robes that set off his silver tresses well. But his beauty was totally eclipsed by Thranduil. He was dressed in deep, green robes within which mithril threads were spun into craftily. His hair was braided away from his face intricately and decorated with green gems, emeralds the colour of his eyes. His father had truly called him the greatest treasure he had been given. His hair waved gently in the breeze appearing like an aura about his handsome features. He ascended the platform and Oropher joined him. Thranduil bent slightly to whisper something in his father’s ears. 

Oropher nodded slightly and extended his hand to Galadriel, the onlookers watched amazed as Galadriel kissed his hand and ascended the stage, standing on Thranduil’s side, an expression of uncertainty on her features. 

Gil-Galad turned to ask Elrond, “What is that about?”

Elrond shrugged, Thranduil had told him yesterday night, but he knew that Gil-Galad would not appreciate such a confidence when it was obvious that Galadriel had not informed him personally.

“In the name of the Valar, will you accept Thranduil Oropherion, son of Oropher of Doriath, and Vanima of Valinor, as your fiance?” Celeborn asked Anoriel.

Anoriel said with a brilliant smile, “Yes, I do, My Lord Celeborn.”

“Does Amdir of Lórien, father of the lady, bless this ceremony?” Celeborn continued. 

Amdir said proudly, “Yes, with my full heart.”

“Does Eleriel, daughter of Elured, mother of the lady, bless this ceremony?” Celeborn continued his office.

A nod was the only answer. Elrond wondered if she could speak. 

Thalion muttered, “I have never heard the sound of her voice.”

Celeborn had turned to Thranduil. He began, “In the name of the Valar, will you accept Anoriel, daughter of Amdir and Eleriel of Lothlórien as your fiancée?”

“Yes, My Lord Celeborn,” Thranduil said smiling from ear to ear, his eyes riveted on his fiancée.

“Does Oropher of Greenwood, father of the prince, bless this ceremony?” Celeborn continued. 

Oropher said quietly, “With all my heart, I pray that the Valar bless them both.”

“Does Artanis, daughter of Finarfin, standing in stead of Vanima, daughter of Ingwion, bless this ceremony?” Celeborn asked, his lips quivering in a smile as he asked his wife of millennia, his one true love.

“I do, and pray that their union is blessed,” Galadriel said, shivering slightly that only her husband could sense it through their renewed bond.

“Then, before this august audience, I pronounce Thranduil Oropherion and the Princess Anoriel betrothed by the laws of the Eldar with the blessings of the Valar,” Celeborn said authoratively, “You may now exchange your rings.”

After Thranduil and Anoriel had lingered enough to place the rings on each other’s fingers, Celeborn said good-humouredly, “You may, now, in keeping with tradition, ask one thing of any of us on the platform.”

Thranduil turned to his father and knelt before him saying with wicked delight, “You must promise me to try to find love, Ada.”

Oropher raised him to his feet and gently kissed his forehead murmuring, “I have already lost my hard kept celibacy, my son.”

Those in the foremost rows gasped, for Oropher’s celibacy had been long and well-kept. Erestor was the only one who turned to watch a fierce blush staining Elrond’s handsome visage as he bit his lower lip in mortification.

Thranduil hugged his father happily whispering in his ears, “I thank Elbereth then, for my prayers have been answered.”

“Lady Anoriel, you may now demand a wish from those on the platform,” Celeborn said. 

Elrond wished that she would ask her mother to speak a single word, but she lifted her chin defiantly and said clearly, “I demand a kiss of passion from my fiancé.”

There was a collective gasp at her boldness. Durin was complimenting what he considered ‘dwarven frankness’. Gil-Galad was advising Celebrían never to pull such a stunt on Elrond at their wedding ceremony. Erestor exchanged a look with Elrond. Amdir and the rest of the lady’s relatives cringed at her fiery nature. Her mother remained impassive.

Thalion remarked, “She will match the ernil.”

“That she will,” Elrond said as he laughed at Thranduil’s baffled expression.

“Well, my prince, will you not honour her wish?” Celeborn asked smirking.

Thranduil shot him a glare before moving very self-consciously to stand before Anoriel and whispering, “Why? I would have showered you with kisses later!”

“One kiss now, to prove that you will never hide our love from other’s eyes,” Anoriel whispered adamantly. 

Thranduil said quietly, as he cupped her face with his hands, “I would never hide our love, come what may.”

The dwarves and the elves cheered lustily as his lips descended on hers. Her hands snaked around his waist, holding him closer. His hands slowly moved to her shoulders as he deepened the kiss. Celeborn’s rather obvious throat clearing made them break apart, staring wildly at each other, their breath coming in gasps.

Durin whistled, “Well, that was a performance, lad!”

Thranduil blushed, as he led his fiancée down the platform to the dance clearing. There they wrapped their hands about each other and started swaying to the minstrel’s songs, their eyes only for each other. 

Erestor was whispering something to Gil-Galad, who was already on his sixth pint of ale and slightly off colour, but the King shook his head and harshly commanded something. Erestor nodded, and bowing politely to Durin and the rest of the nobles, he stood. His eyes roved about on the dance floor, Celeborn was dancing with his daughter, Galadriel with Durin. Oropher was standing next to Thalion and holding conference with a group of counsellors. 

Erestor made his way to Elrond, who was trying to keep his eyes on Gil-Galad as he staggered off to join Glorfindel. 

“Dance?” Erestor asked him hopefully, “I do not know why they would drink when they can dance.”

Elrond complied eagerly, despite Círdan’s cold look directed his way.

 

They danced till the night had fallen, changing partners only thrice when Thranduil had claimed Erestor’s hand and Elrond had sat out the song. Anoriel was dancing with Oropher, laughing happily at something he remarked, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on her features. Though Oropher’s dancing was perfect, his son’s sensual, yet elegant dance with Erestor had many applauders, their youthful exuberance and natural grace lending their moves beauty.

The next dance, Oropher came over to where Elrond sat and asked good-humouredly, “Will you dance with me, Lord Elrond?”

Elrond cringed and apologized again, but he accepted the King’s hand and they danced slowly, as Oropher kept a steady flow of conversation until Elrond’s shame had disappeared. Finally as he relaxed, Oropher drew him slightly closer and whispered, “Should anything happen to me in this battle, Erestor and you must see my son through, until he returns to her.”

Elrond said firmly, “Nothing will happen, My Lord. You will see your grandchildren grow in a loving family.”

Oropher shook his head as he whispered, “I do not know, Elrond. The fates have ever been fickle. I feel that there will not be more than one offspring in this union and that he shall be as lonely as my son ever has been. I feel that I shall see her before I see him and that I may never see my grandson.”

Elrond said quietly, “If I draw breath, I will not see your son in peril, nor will Erestor, for they have a deeper bond. If this is foresight, then I will raise his son as mine should need arise.” 

Oropher said relieved, “You have my gratitude, Elrond. May the Valar be kind on you.”

“The Valar are never kind on us Noldor,” Elrond shrugged as the song ended, “Especially in the matters of the heart,” he watched Erestor dancing with Celebrían.

 

Elrond danced with Celebrían the next song while Erestor danced with Galadriel, though from the chief counsellor’s cold diplomatic face, it did not seem that it was particularly enjoyable. The rest of the dances, they were together, wearing themselves down to exhaustion until the first rays of dawn had arrived. Thranduil and Anoriel had retired sometime after the first few dances, with their families. So had Galadriel, though Durin was reluctant to let her go. Gil-Galad was carried by Glorfindel and Gildor to his chambers after he lost a drinking competition to Haldir of Lothlórien.

 

Anoriel waited until her family had retired before creeping out of her window. She advanced slowly till she reached the room next to her brother’s. Amroth was still standing with Thranduil as they talked in a desultory fashion.

“Have you not sought your dreams yet?” Thranduil asked her as she joined them.

Amroth gave a knowing smile and bid them a fair night before retiring into his chambers. 

Thranduil asked his fiancée fearfully, “I hope you did not come to demand yet another kiss of passion? I am already struggling with the desire the last one awoke in me.”

Anoriel smiled, which in Thranduil’s mind made her the most beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life, she asked quietly, “Would you show me the woods tonight, My prince? I cannot find rest this night and would be glad to walk with you.”

“Amdir will have me quartered and drawn,” Thranduil said wryly, “And knowing you, I fear to come along.”

Anoriel said softly, “I ask only for a walk underneath the stars, Thranduil.”

He shrugged and took her hand in his as he led the way into the woods away from the revelry.

“Did you enjoy yourself in the dance with my father?” Thranduil asked suddenly, after they had been walking in silence for a few moments, “He rarely dances except with cousin Celebrían.”

“He is elegant,” Anoriel sighed, “Though I am afraid that both your father and I were watching your spirited performance with Erestor. The two of you make an excellent dance pair. I had never expected him to be so unrestrained on the floor.”

“It is only on the dance floor and the battlefield that he gets a chance to drop his mask of diplomacy,” Thranduil sighed, “And that is when he resembles his ancestors the most, unrestrained. Elrond and he make a good pair on the battlefield and on the councils, Erestor’s strategies complimenting Elrond’s bravery and intelligence.”

“It is not only on the battlefield and the councils that they would make a good pair, Thranduil, they look good together,” Anoriel remarked.

Thranduil stopped walking as they reached a clearing. He waved his hand skywards saying softly, “You wanted to see the stars.”

“I have always wanted to touch the stars and the moon, to taste of their luminance. You promised to shower me with kisses,” Anoriel murmured as she drew nearer and hugged him from behind. 

He relaxed involuntarily before tensing against her saying, “Do not tempt me, Anor-nîn. I am already suffocating with desire.”

“Thranduil Oropherion takes what he wants, so I have heard,” Anoriel breathed as she drew her fingers against the smooth silk of his robes, causing him to tense even more.

“Anor-nîn,” Thranduil pulled away, his voice shaking. Anoriel came around to face him, drinking in the sight of his lust-dilated eyes and heaving chest.

“We need to go back,” he whispered as he struggled to control his desire, “Now.”

Anoriel came nearer, her expression almost innocent as she lifted herself on her toes balancing herself by placing her hands on his shoulders as she pressed her lips on his. He shuddered as he opened his mouth, drawing her tongue within. Moaning softly, she pressed the length of her slim body against his, slipping her fingers into his hair. He groaned as he fell to his knees, drawing her with him. Slowly, he leant back onto the grass, pulling her atop him. She shivered as the warmth of his wet arousal seeped through his robes onto hers. As they parted from their kiss, she saw a single tear trail down his cheek.

“I wanted to wait, to proudly claim you on our wedding night,” he whispered softly, “but now I feel scared that I might do something, I might hurt you by my passion. Leave me now, please, I cannot control myself anymore. I have to seek release,” his cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment as Anoriel pressed her hand against his growing arousal.

“I am happy that I can make you feel thus, Ithil-nîn. I will give you what you desire, for that is what I want,” Anoriel kissed the tear away, “You ride for war in three days. When we wed, we cannot be sure that it will be a happier time. When we are apart, I would have a souvenir of our times together.”

“I may not return, Anor-nîn,” Thranduil said closing his eyes in pain, “I will not have you bind with me now. I will not wreck your life.”

“We are already bound by soul,” she whispered, “For ill or worse, I am yours and you are mine. Let us complete it.”

“True,” Thranduil opened his eyes, moist with still tears, “For ill or worse I have condemned yet one more soul to die for me.”

Anoriel silenced him gently with a kiss, it soon turned passionate with their fear and desperation. Finally, she broke apart roughly and sitting atop him, impatiently ripped at her elaborately laced nightrobe.

Thranduil chuckled weakly, as he leant upwards to pry her hands away and replaced them with his gentler ones. 

Patiently, he undid each lace, causing her to remark, “Where did you learn to untie laces so well?”

“Never mind,” he said as he parted her dress down her slim shoulders and stooping to kiss her collar bone tenderly, “I will take up this task for you in our life, Anor-nîn, lest you rip dresses each night.”

“I run out of patience,” she gasped as she kissed him again, “Hurry.”

“As you wish,” he said as he laid her out on the grass, her golden hair fanning against the green dampness of the ground. He then slowly removed his brilliant green betrothal robes, which still carried the scent of the flowers of Aman. 

As they looked upon each other’s bodies for the first time, they said at the same time, “Most beautiful.”

They laughed as they flushed at their compliments and then he quietly began kissing her toes, his fingers ghosting over her soft legs. 

“You can dispense with all that, you know,” she moaned, “and get on with the main act. We can do all this later.”

“Ah! The human side from Beren,” he teased her, “impatient young woman? I will not get on with it until I worship each inch of this miracle.”

She rolled her eyes and then gasped as his tongue slithered under her feet, tickling her mercilessly, “Thranduil!”

“I am here,” he laughed as he proceeded to tickle her more, her helpless giggling sweet music to his ears. She frowned and began retaliating as she lifted a leg and lightly traced it along his ribs, causing his eyelids to flutter in desire. She smiled victoriously before swiftly pouncing atop him, and watched as he fell back spread-eagled. The depth of emotion in his eyes as he lay before her, trusting and vulnerable, struck her to the core. She placed a kiss on his drawn in navel, before sliding up to gently rub her nose against his hardened nipples. 

He moaned softly before whispering, “I cannot take more, Anor-nîn. Torment me not any further.”

“I will never torment you,” she said quietly as she closed her eyes and slid onto his organ. As her virgin membrane broke, she screamed softly. His hands enveloped her as he drew her atop him, whispering endearments. He kissed her tears of pain away and slowly moved within her, and she screamed again, pleasure mingling with pain. 

He stopped moving, and whispered fearfully, “Have I hurt you? I will never forgive myself.”

She shuddered and thrust to meet him again, this time, their pleasures ruled them and they moaned in unison. He pulled away from her as he climaxed, seeing her unhappy expression, he whispered, “No child of ours will be born out of wedlock, I will never give the world a reason to judge them harshly.” 

She closed her eyes exhaustedly, pain and pleasure receding replaced only by a dull ache in her. He gently lifted her and walked to a pond, purring, “We should take a bath before we return, lest your Adar kill us both.”

She rested her against his chest, which beat in rhythm with her own and complained, “The water must be cold.”

He grinned mischievously as he entered the pond and ducked her, delighting in her squeals of protest. He washed her hair and then gently cleaned her body before taking a quick dip himself. 

She watched his handsome body, sparkling in the moonlight, and whispered, “Come back to me, Ithil-nîn.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, fear and uncertainty hanging in the air between them, before she said less seriously, “I hope you don’t try the humans during your eastward journey. I refuse to touch you if you try Isildur. Erestor told me rather despicable tales of him.”

“I promise that I will not touch anyone,” he assured her laughing, “The memories of this night will be enough for a lifetime away from you.”

“We will craft memories the next two nights, my prince,” she said quietly, as she leaned into his touch, “But do not deny yourself pleasure when you are away from me.”

He shook his head silently and kissed her, tasting slightly of desperation, before he murmured, “We should return now, lest we are in trouble.”

“Sleep with me tonight,” she begged him, “Hold me, leave only at dawn. My brother will keep us safe.”

“I will never be able to deny you,” he said sighing.

“And carry me till there,” she pouted, “I am sure that you will know a dark, unused path where we may meet none.”

He rolled his eyes and obeyed promptly saying, “It is the most pleasing burden I have the fortune to bear.”

* * *

Gil-Galad watched his aunt shiver slightly before pulling her fur lined robes closer to her gaunt body. There was an ageless expression of grief on her features as she stood on the ramparts of the fortress, her golden hair flying in the wind.

“You have not sought rest yet?” he asked concernedly as he approached her.

“I could not find the heart to,” she said quietly, turning to look at him, “You?”

“I slept well enough yesterday, the ale pounding my head,” he grinned wryly, “I know I should learn to stop competing with the Sindar, but it is the last time for most of us.”

She gasped and turned away from him, her chest heaving in suppressed emotion.

“Lord Celeborn will not be hurt,” he assured her, “He is a valiant warrior.” 

“I worry not only for him,” Galadriel sighed, “I worry for you, for Oropher, for his son, for Amdir, for Amroth, for all those who ride east.”

“You have seen something?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Galadriel shook her head, “I have not looked since I knew the war was drawing ever near. I could not look. Gil,” she looked up at him, “You are one of the last few on this harsh land that I can claim kin.”

“As you are mine,” Gil-Galad whispered, “We are so alone, so few despite the number that arrived in exile. Of the blood of Fingolfin, only I and Elrond remain. Of the blood of Finarfin, only you and Gildor remain. The nobility of our lines has weakened, I have no blood heirs, and your daughter has Sindar blood in her veins. Elrond is a mix of several bloodlines, Edain and Elven. Gildor is pure blooded, yet he will not marry, I fear.” 

“True,” Galadriel sighed, sorrow shining in her voice, “The bloodlines have weakened. Even the marriage between my daughter and Elrond will not strengthen them. Where is the valiance of Fingon, the wisdom of Turgon, the nobility of my brother Finrod that struck fear in Morgoth’s black heart? Where now are the white fire of Maedhros and the cold strategy of Maglor that held us safe for centuries? The house of Finwë has weakened, a mere shadow of its former fire. Of the houses of Finarfin and Fingolfin, we can hope no further. Of the house of Fëanor, Celebrimbor has left us to fight for his folly. Of Maglor’s children, the woman will sail soon, I can feel it. But your bonded mate, I see in him the fire of my cousins.”

“I wish his fate is not that of your cousins, Galadriel,” Gil-Galad sighed, “For his stubbornness and sense of duty is unparalleled. It has bound his soul to the refugees of Eregion.”

“Enough of that,” he continued, “What think you of our chances?”

“Well indeed,” she said smiling softly, “Durin’s folk are most courageous. You have good chances of winning,” her face darkened, “though I fear I may not see many of you again.”

“I have a feeling in my heart that Finwë’s doom will claim me. The love he bore for his son will let no other claim in peace the throne of the Noldor. I must pay as my fathers have done before me. Though, it is for a worthy cause,” he said quietly, accepting the fierce embrace that his aunt bestowed on him.

“I do not wish to lose the last of my kin to Mandos,” she whispered fiercely, “Come back to me.”

 

Elrond roamed the halls seeking company. They were to leave on the morrow and he had no wish to spend the time in his room thinking of the war they had to fight. 

“Elrond!” a warm hand grasped his arm, “Why are you loitering about in a Sindar palace?”

“Celebrían,” he smiled, “I was merely taking a walk before I retired. And you?” for they were near the store rooms, he did not see any reason for her presence there.

“I have been following you,” she shrugged, “I thought you were going to steal some Sindar heirloom for your Noldo King,” she linked her arm through his in a friendly fashion before saying quietly, “You try to be careful out there.”

He looked at her quizzically for a moment before comprehending her meaning, “I will try to be,” he deliberately turned the conversation to a lighter vein, “I thought that you would hire the orcs to make you a widow.”

She stuck her nose in the air before saying solemnly, “I would not want you to die so easily. My mother would have planned a more suiting end for you.”

“That I believe,” he said laughing as he embraced her, “I will try to be safe, after all, we have a marriage waiting.” 

“I find I am not as displeased by the idea as I once was,” she said frankly.

“And for my part, I believe I would have wooed you as Thranduil did your friend had I not already lost my heart to another,” Elrond smiled as he looked down upon her fair features.

“You will not tell me?” she asked playfully, “Maybe I can help. Does he know you are getting married? That you are riding east?” 

“He will ride east with me,” Elrond said sighing, “Though I wish he had stayed behind.”

“Is Erestor in better spirits? He was unhappy yesterday night when I saw him near the library,” Celebrían asked. 

“He is well enough,” he sighed, “I was not aware you were on first name terms.”

“He is handsome,” she laughed merrily, “And I make it my priority to be on first name terms with all such people.”

 

Celeborn watched torn between amusement and fear as Thranduil crept through Anoriel’s window stealthily. 

“Cousin, what are you smiling at?” Oropher’s voice sounded behind him.

“I was watching your redoubtable son stealing into his fiancée’s bed,” Celeborn smiled wryly, “He is brave, Amdir would have his skin if they are caught.”

“My son is a mix of bravery and stupidity in equal measure,” Oropher smiled fondly, “though if Amdir catches them, he will need to use all of his considerable diplomatic skills.”

Celeborn laid his hand on his slightly shorter cousin’s shoulder saying, “No rest?”

“I came to find you, cousin. We leave tomorrow. Thalion will be in charge here. All is set. Yet I feel that something is haunting me. I wished to walk under the stars before I retired. Would you come with me?” Oropher asked him.

“Do you really have to ask?” Celeborn frowned as he pulled his cousin’s arm in his, “You know, they are bonded.”

“Yes, one problem solved,” Oropher said softly, “I am glad that he rides to battle having known love.”

“And he will return from battle to her,” Celeborn said reassuringly, “What else are we all going with him for?”

 

Erestor was leaving their chambers when Gil-Galad entered. They stared at each other an instant before the King said quietly, “You may send me away if my company is unpleasant.”

“You need not ask if I mind your company,” Erestor said quietly, “After all you are King and I am your chief-counsellor.”

Gil-Galad sighed as his bonded-mate began to move towards the bed still arrayed in uncomfortable looking formal robes. He removed his own tunic and leggings before slipping into the bed beside Erestor, who was lying still on his back.

Gil-Galad whispered, “Let me atleast take the braids out, my love, it cannot be comfortable. And change those robes, you must be suffocating.”

“As you wish,” Erestor said unemotionally as he complied, unbraiding his hair and then undressing before slipping on a loose nightrobe that hung by the bed.

As Gil-Galas reached to press his lips on Erestor’s, he cringed. Where there had once been fire and passion, he received no response. 

“I would not have us unhappy over Isildur,” Gil-Galad reached to hold Erestor’s slender hand, “What he says cannot blemish my love for you.”

“Yet I notice that it was not my king, but my friend who was moved enough to exact revenge for his words,” Erestor said quietly, only the flicker of pain in his dark eyes giving him away.

“You know well that diplomacy requires sacrifices and a cold mind,” Gil-Galad said, “you know well that certain situations are meant to be borne with dignity and not spontaneity.” 

“So speaks the impulsive king to his diplomatic counsellor, that I understand well,” Erestor remarked, “But, My Lord, I need not tell you that the heart never bows to diplomacy. When what we cherish the most is threatened, then we stick to no diplomacy. I do not blame you for what happened, but I am pained that it was not onto your shoulders that I cried my heart out after that.”

“I am sorry,” Gil-Galad whispered.

“You would not act differently should the situation occur again,” Erestor said quietly, “I do not understand your reasons. But you say that you love me, and I cling to that alone now.”

Gil-Galad placed his hand on Erestor’s chest and traced circles when Erestor’s hand firmly pushed it away. 

“I am yet to forgive my insult, you may do your will on me, for that is your right,” Erestor said determinedly, “But it shall never be with my agreement. Marriage for us is eternity. I beg time before we can bring things back to what they were before Isildur.”

“As you wish,” Gil-Galad said furiously as he got out of the bed and barged out of the room, pausing only to grab a robe, “I will return to this bed only when you accept my reasoning.”

Erestor sighed, before pulling his robe closer. The large bed seemed awfully empty with only his slender form resting in it. He shook his head, he would never find rest here. He slowly walked to the next door and knocked softly.

A sleepy eyed Glorfindel opened after a few moments. Seeing his friend’s woebegone expression, he immediately cast the door wider open and pulled him inside.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Erestor asked simply.

“Get into bed,” Glorfindel shoved him towards the large bed, “Though I was expecting company.”

“Glor,” Erestor smiled weakly as he crept underneath the covers, warmed by Glorfindel’s body heat, “He left me angrily. I tried my best to be reasonable,” he sighed.

“He is a fool to waste his last night in a good bed like that,” Glorfindel tucked Erestor’s head under his chin before pulling him close, intertwining their legs. Erestor returned his embrace as they drifted into the land of elven dreams.

 

Elrond walked quietly underneath the stars and the forest, his mind refusing to rest as it burrowed through the past. He could still remember the War of the Wrath, when he had fought with Elros under Finarfin’s banner; the Siege of Eregion, when he had fought with Glorfindel and Erestor under the High-King’s banner, the burning city he had left behind as he had lead the retreat of broken souls; war, what did it serve?

“Elrond?” Oropher’s pale golden hair shone light in the moonlight, “Why are you not seeking your rest? We ride at dawn.”

“Why do we have to fight? We are elves, immortal. We shall live to see evil rise again,” Elrond sighed.

“True,” Oropher drew nearer, Elrond could the gauntness on his features that had not been there on the day of the betrothal, “Yet is it not worth it if a few generations of mortals live happily without a dark shadow? That they can love, wed and live with their families without fear. We will see the blessed realm, for we are the most loved by the Valar. So is it not right that we defend them while we can, with what we can?”

Elrond nodded, though he did not agree, Oropher smiled, “You will understand it a day, and then you will say the same words to those who seek answers.”

“I will send anyone who seeks such answers to you, my Lord,” Elrond returned his smile, “For you are well equipped with answers.”

Oropher shook his head, “I am but a flame long extinguished, a cold heart warmed only by my son’s warmth. You are not like me, you hope even when you fear. It will carry you far, through many years of toil and grief. This night, I feel is the ending of all that was in the second Age of Arda. This battle will claim old heroes and bring forth new ones. But life will change, many of us will never know joy again. Yet, we shall go on. For even where there is no joy, there is yet hope, Elrond, and in that we trust.”

 

Galadriel watched as Celeborn entered their chamber muttering darkly, “The gall!”

“Whose?” she asked smiling as he crept into bed blushing angrily, “You look beautiful when you are angry.”

“Thranduil! Who else?” Celeborn muttered, “I knocked on her door to warn them her father was coming. He came out dressed in naught, walked a few steps with me, when Amdir entered his daughter’s room, he advised me to wear thicker robes to hide my arousal.” 

“He has that effect on people,” Galadriel smiled, “A born charmer, so like you.” 

Celeborn smiled helplessly at her flattery and dove into bed beside her.

 

Thranduil snuck back into Anoriel’s room after Amdir left. Thalion had seen him, gasped and then handed his outer robe to the naked prince muttering something about Oropher’s child-raising skills.

 

Galadriel joined the others in the courtyard of the fortress at dawn. Thalion was bidding his King and Prince farewell as were hundreds of elves, who would not ride to war against Sauron. Gil-Galad and the Noldor contingent had already ridden out an hour ago, with the High-King had gone his herald, Glorfindel and Erestor. Thranduil was kissing Anoriel passionately as he bent down from his black charger, his face screwed up in misery.

Elrond prodded his mare against Erestor’s stallion and asked quietly, “You seem sad, any other reason than our journey’s end?”

Erestor raised an eyebrow sardonically, before saying evenly, “The companionship I shall have to suffer is a cause for my gloom, Herald, I can scarcely wait to be back in Isildur’s company.”

“I have a problem, Chief-Counsellor,” Círdan approached them, a tired smile on his ancient face, “My nephew refuses to have you in his royal tent.”

“How does that become your problem, Círdan?” Erestor frowned as he pulled away from Elrond’s side to join the mariner. 

“The tents, we had assumed that you and Gil would be in one, we did not take a worthy tent for you,” Círdan shrugged, “We shall have to borrow from Amdir.”

“I can manage well enough with a simple tent, I daresay,” Erestor smiled, “After all, it is not as if I am a courtier and consort alone, whatever Isildur thinks.”

“That you are not,” Círdan laughed, “Yet you are of noble blood and must carry yourself thus. Will you manage in Glorfindel’s tent?”

“He is sharing with Gildor, I heard,” Erestor shook his head, “And you?”

“With our Menelwen’s mate,” Círdan sighed, “Had I known of this, I would have never done this folly. Gil did not tell me.”

“Erestor can share mine, if he does not mind, that is,” Elrond offered tentatively.

Erestor said relieved, “That is well, for I had no mind to beg Gil for something as worthless as a bed to sleep in at night, especially when elves were made to sleep under the stars.”

Elrond laughed happily, despite Círdan’s warning look, suddenly the journey to Mordor seemed the best journey in his life.

That night as they camped and made ready to turn in, Erestor came by saying, “Elrond, they wish to put another bed in, I told them not to. Why waste a bed that may serve another?”

Elrond gaped at him, despite Glorfindel’s throat clearing. Same bed? Single bed?

“I think it might be a better idea to have two beds,” Elrond said weakly.

“Don’t be a fool, we can manage well enough, I promise you I won’t steal the covers,” Erestor smiled brightly before snatching a piece of lembas from Glorfindel’s unsuspecting hands and turning away to supervise the rest of the camp’s settling down for the night.

 

________________________________________

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Elrond entered their tent nervously. Glorfindel had said that they would camp to wait for the dwarves and the armies of Lothlórien and Greenwood. The army of Gondor was a few miles ahead of them. Elendil would probably arrive tomorrow to discuss strategies. Faced with the prospect of spending two days with Erestor in the same tent made Elrond decide to forego his tunic and leggings for formal robes.

The tent was empty, Erestor was probably still with Gil-Galad preparing for the next day’s war councils. Elrond sighed as he took out a long grey robe from his chest before undoing his tunic and slipping the robe on. As a better precaution, he did not remove his leggings. He snuffed out the torches in a sand vessel enveloping the tent in darkness. It reminded him of the safety of Maedhros’s encampments. There was never light in the night, yet he had felt secure. He relaxed on the bed, lying down languidly on his stomach. 

Erestor came in an hour later, his tread soft meaning not to wake Elrond. 

But Elrond raised himself into a half-seated position as he murmured, “Is your day over? I trust the time you spent with Gil today was not uncomfortable.”

“No,” Erestor sighed as he removed his tunic and leggings in the darkness, before fumbling for his nightrobe in his chest, “Though he reminded me every possible opportunity that I had angered the High King himself. Still this will be nothing when Elendil and his sons arrive,” he fastened the ties on his nightrobe and joined Elrond on the bed, “I hope you do not mind sharing a bed.”

Elrond shook his head saying, “I will appreciate the company as we near the destination, I daresay.”

When he woke in the morning, he was surprised to find himself facing Erestor’s relaxed face. Then he remembered. Watching the steady rise and fall of his companion’s chest, he felt a sudden longing to run his hand along the smooth expanse of skin. Erestor’s hair had fanned out and was spread on Elrond’s form, tickling him gently. Carefully, he tried to extricate himself from the bed covers without waking the sleeping form beside him as his arousal grew. He gasped in horror as his erection brushed against Erestor’s leg, causing the sleeping elf to awake suddenly.

“Elrond,” Erestor murmured as he snuggled underneath the bed covers, “You are an early riser.”

Elrond sighed in relief as he tried to move away. 

Erestor pulled him deftly so that they were lying alongside saying sleepily, “It is cold, you are warm.” 

Elrond cursed silently as his arousal began dampening his robes. But Erestor had drifted into his dreams again. Elrond moved away carefully and crept out of the tent. Glorfindel was watching him closely as he pulled his robe closer about him to hide the too obvious bulge.

“My tent is empty, you can go there,” the Balrog Slayer offered sympathetically, “Elrond, if you want, we can swap places, Gildor will not mind. Two beds.”

“No, ,” Elrond said smiling pensively, “I am glad actually, apart from moments of embarrassment like these, it is as close to the blessed realm as I can be, to wake holding him. To watch him sleep, his features so innocent and noble,” he shuddered, “it reminds me why I love him, and I am glad of the pain it gifts me for it is a sweet pain.”

 

By the time Elrond returned, Erestor was already dressed in deep brown formal robes and brushing his hair and said harried, “The Gondorians have come. Gil is discussing strategies today. Oropher and Amdir have already arrived. Our prince looked in to greet me before leaving to dress for the council. And he was surprised when I told him we were sharing a tent. Now I have to go and receive the delegates because Gil is in his bath, Glorfindel refuses to go, you were missing leaving only me as usual. Where were you?”

Elrond just smiled and dressed hurriedly. It would not do to tell Erestor that he was the reason why Elrond had gone missing.

 

When Elrond entered Gil-Galad’s tent, the Gondorians and the dwarves led by Durin had arrived. Amdir, Amroth and Celeborn entered behind him bidding him a good morning as they did. Gil-Galad was deep in conversation with Erestor, maps spread out before them. Glorfindel was shooting filthy looks at Isildur who responded with equal willingness. Elendil was talking with his younger son. 

“Elrond,” Gil-Galad called him, “Where is the Lord of Greenwood for we wait for him alone?”

Elrond wondered why he was supposed to know of Oropher’s whereabouts. 

Celeborn answered, “He will be here in a few moments, Lord Gil-Galad. He was delayed by urgent business.”

Gil-Galad nodded irritably before turning to Erestor once again. Elrond wondered how they could spend time in each other’s company despite the harsh tension of their situation. Oropher arrived a few moments later, followed by his second seneschal. Elrond wondered where Thranduil was. Erestor’s curious glance directed towards the Sindar King made Elrond know that he was thinking the same.

“Lord Oropher,” Gil-Galad began impatiently, “Now that we have been graced by your presence, can we start or are we to wait for your son?”

Thranduil entered the tent, his fine features set in a light scowl as he went to stand by his father and King. He had obviously heard the High-King’s words.

Oropher said coolly, “We had set the meeting at ten. I find that you are early, that gives you no reason to call us late.”

Gil-Galad began to retort, but Erestor said clearly, “Now that we have all assembled, let us not waste time, My King will briefly tell us of his strategy to combat the forces of the enemy.”

Gil-Galad said in a calmer tone, “I would first hear my fellow rulers’ commitment and conditions to lead into battle their forces. Are they willing to accept my command?”

Durin said determinedly, “We will fight alongside you, Lord Elf, but never under you. Conditions, we have none. Except that you treat us as you would your own warriors, with the same courtesy and respect.”

Isildur cleared his throat at what he felt to be a dry speech. Gil-Galad merely bowed to the great Dwarf King and then turned to Elendil.

The handsome ruler of Gondor said, “I have no conditions on my part, merely gratitude that Gondor is not alone in this battle. I will accept the leadership of the Noldor King as he has more experience and wisdom.” 

Gil-Galad said, “Well spoken, Lord Elendil,” he looked towards Oropher, who was still conversing with Amdir, “What say you, King Of Greenwood?”

“I will lead my elves to battle, Lord Gil-Galad,” Oropher paused, “My son, the Crown Prince will command our troops.”

“And Lord Celeborn shall command mine,” Amdir said clearly.

“So you will not cooperate even for a noble cause?” Isildur cut in, “That you have to stand divided? Or is the house of noble Gil-Galad not illustrious enough to command your troops?”

“Prince Of Gondor,” Erestor said quietly, “We are here to pledge alliances not allegiances.”

“True, Lord Consort,” Isildur remarked, noting with pleasure Erestor’s discomposure. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“I believe you owe me an apology, Prince Isildur,” Erestor said calmly.

“We were discussing alliances,” Gil-Galad cut in before Isildur could respond, “Lord Isildur, I will not have you insulting my chief counsellor again before me. Now, shall we move on to the strategy? Or is there any demand yet to be voiced for the alliance?”

“I wish for an elven consort,” Isildur said firmly, “An elf worthy of me. Not the cowardly elves you send to me.”

“Dare you call our warriors cowardly? Then it seems that you have too easily forgotten the defeat at the hands of an elven warrior not so long ago” Elrond asked sharply. He could not believe that someone with his twin’s blood in their veins could be so base.

Isildur turned to face him, before saying innocently, “Mayhap the one that defeated me was a true warrior.”

“What do you mean to imply?” Gil-Galad asked him, his eyes narrowed.

“I want a true elven warrior as my consort during this battle,” Isildur said determinedly, “And since you have said that Lord Thranduil is a mighty warrior, I choose him as my consort.”

There was a sudden silence at the end of his words before Amroth said angrily, “If you were not of Lord Elrond’s blood, I would have killed you where you stand!”

Anárion came to Isildur’s defence saying, “My brother said nothing disrespectful, the wood elf should be happy.”

“Lord Gil-Galad, I will not have the prince of Greenwood insulted, by fools who cannot even comprehend the depth of his lineage,” Amdir said sharply, “If the young lord cannot conduct himself in a manner more worthy, then it would be more advisable for him to stay away from these councils.”

Gil-Galad looked at Erestor, but the latter was still speaking to Glorfindel, so he said quietly, “The offer was made by Prince Isildur as the condition on which he would deign to join his army with ours. And we wait to hear Prince Thranduil’s answer.”

Oropher stepped before his son protectively before saying coldly, “For someone who witnessed the betrothal of my son to the Princess of Lothlórien, Lord Gil-Galad, you have a short memory.”

Durin was looking scandalized at the scene before him.

“I am not asking your son to wed me, Wood King. I merely seek him for pleasure till the battle is over, I am married and have sons who will be fighting alongside me,” Isildur reminded him.

Elrond saw the white pain and fury flash through in Oropher’s green eyes before Thranduil stepped forth saying mildly, “Since we are merely discussing consorts, I beg your permission for Lords Oropher and Amdir to retire now. Our troops have not yet settled, and would need supervision.”

Amdir did not wait any further before beckoning to Celeborn. Together, they led a harshly breathing Oropher out of the tent. Amroth closed the distance between him and Thranduil in a gesture of support.

“Now that the dotard has left, will you give my brother an answer, wood elf?” Anárion asked.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow before saying nonchalantly, “I would be proud of being a wood-elf were I one. A Silvan is no lesser than the Noldor.”

Isildur moved forth to stand before Thranduil, “Then if you are no wood-elf, pretty one, what are you, a cave-elf?”

“He is the heir to the throne of Ingwë,” Erestor said quietly, “And you would do well to accord him that respect.”

“You have not yet answered,” Gil-Galad said impatiently, “I am ill-inclined to spend my day hearing of your ancestry, Prince Thranduil.”

“I agree, Lord Gil-Galad,” Thranduil smiled coldly, “Prince Isildur, I have no idea why you would even presume to think that I would be overwhelmed by the prospect of being your consort. I want Mordor to be vanquished, and for that I will give my body and soul if need be. I would have given myself as a consort to you for life had you spared my father the ill-courtesy that he does not deserve. But you have hurt him,” Thranduil looked at Isildur coldly, “Do that again and you shall die under my blade.”

“Are you threatening my son?” Elendil asked furiously.

“Not threatening, My Lord,” Thranduil said calmly, “I was merely informing him of my actions should he presume to insult my father again,” he bowed politely before striding out of the tent, an equally angry Amroth followed him.

Isildur sneered, “He talks, he threatens, I will not let that affect me.”

“Then you will have to learn of him the hard way,” Glorfindel retorted before leaving.

Elendil pushed his sons towards the exit of the tent muttering, “That Sauron would hear of what we think of on the very eve of battle!”

Gil-Galad shuffled back to the maps, his eyes avoiding Elrond’s and Erestor’s.

“You knew he was going to ask that,” Elrond accused him angrily, “And you did not even warn Oropher!”

“Elrond,” Gil-Galad sighed, “Sacrifices have to be made by those who are burdened with leadership if we are to win this war. Oropher is right to be angry, but we need Isildur’s men. Do you think I do this willingly, that I bear a personal grudge towards the Sindar? I may dislike Oropher, but I would never wish his son such disgrace. I bear Isildur no more love than you do, indeed I hate him more for what he has wrecked on my marriage.”

Elrond looked to Erestor, but the Chief-Counsellor was marking something on the elaborate maps, his features concentrated in a light frown.

“You could have warned Oropher!” Elrond muttered furiously, “It broke my heart to see his face when he heard Isildur’s base words!”

Gil-Galad nodded pensively, “I should have, but I thought he would not even bear my presence had he known that I had been aware of the human’s designs on his much beloved son.”

“Oropher is no fool, My King,” Erestor spoke for the first time, his eyes still on the map, “He knows that you would be aware of this. As does Thranduil.”

Gil-Galad turned to Erestor saying furiously, “I care not, better his son than my bonded-mate! I will not let Isildur come within a yard of you if I can help it!”

Erestor raised an eyebrow before saying sardonically, “I feel safe, My Lord, by your kind words.”

Elrond watched with increasing apprehension, as Gil-Galad stormed to Erestor and spat, “What more can you ask of me? That I give up this battle because you cannot stand Isildur.”

Erestor looked truly bewildered as he said, “As a chief counsellor, I would never advise that, My King.”

Elrond said tentatively, “Gil, will you accompany me to the barracks? It would do our warriors good to meet you.”

His words fell on deaf ears as Gil-Galad pulled Erestor into his arms and caught his lips in an angry kiss. Erestor’s eyes widened at the brutality. 

The High-King broke away ordering, “In our bed, now. I care not for your duties. Elrond, leave us.”

Elrond began to speak, “Gil, I must protest!” But Erestor had already walked to the other side of the tent with his head lowered, his pace unsteady.

“LEAVE!” Gil-Galad turned to Elrond, who reluctantly left, his heart thudding in pain. 

He had to find Glorfindel now. Only the Balrog Slayer could handle the King while he was in such a mood. He ran to the barracks, unconcerned by his warriors’ looks, and hailed Glorfindel, who was training with his bow on the archery range.

“GLORFINDEL!,” he shouted, “Join me now.”

The Balrog Slayer came hastily, his expression worried as he approached Elrond, “What is it, Elrond? Did Isildur insult us again?”

“No,” Elrond wrung his hands in fear, “Gil is in a fell mood and ordered Erestor into his bed. I, I am scared that this will not end well.”

Glorfindel did not even wait to put his bow away as he ran towards the King’s tent, Elrond following him. 

Elrond waited nervously as Glorfindel barged in demanding, “Gil, Where is Erestor? He has not yet come to the barracks!”

“By Eru!” Gil-Galad cursed, “Can I not even have my own bonded-mate for myself? Who asked you to come into our bedchamber?”

Glorfindel said in a voice of menace, “You will hurt him, Gil, and I shall not let that happen as long as I draw breath, bonded-mate or no. He returns with me.”

“Glor, please leave us,” Erestor’s voice was cold, “I am touched by your concern, but as the King says, it is a matter between him and I alone. Leave.”

Moments later, Glorfindel came to Elrond’s side whispering, “I can do naught, he is in one of his darker moods and will not let me help him.”

That day, Elrond held a lonely vigil outside Gil-Galad’s tent for Glorfindel had gone to Círdan to tell him of the news. Barely after dusk, the tent flap opened as Erestor let himself out, his face composed despite the obvious rents in his fine robes and the tousled hair, which had left its braid. 

He glanced about and saw Elrond, who hurried towards him, muttering hesitantly, “Is everything all right? 

“As well as they can be. The King is resting and I do not think you can see him now if you need to speak with him,” Erestor pulled his robes tighter, his eyes roving the darkening skies. 

“I meant,” Elrond faltered, wondering how to approach the matter without making obvious his too deep fears, “Is everything all right with you? You look not so well.”

Erestor smiled tightly before saying, “I am well, Elrond. I think I will take a quick bath in the river near the Lothlórien tents before I retire. It has been an unsettling day,” his face darkened a moment before he said in a less certain voice, “Can I stay with you for the night? I would not wish to wake the King again, his rest is important now that we are nearing our destination.”

“You should not have to ask such a question,” Elrond said truthfully, “Whatever is mine is yours.”

Erestor nodded before walking stiffly away in the direction of the Lórien encampment. Elrond sighed as he made his way to Thranduil’s tent. He was in need of advice, though he knew that the Sindar Prince would be in a foul mood himself. 

“Elrond,” Thranduil was standing outside his tent, watching crows fly north, “Are things all right there? I tried to seek Erestor out, but could not find him anywhere.” 

Elrond took a deep breath before telling the whole story, Thranduil’s face increasingly darkened before the prince finally said, “Erestor is no fool. He must have a reason to believe that Gil-Galad loves him, else he would not give in. And then your cousin is as besotted with Erestor as he was all those centuries ago, it appears to me as a case of pent-up desire and frustration than an unwilling episode. Erestor has, I felt, been tensed by the long abstinence, it does not agree with him. He is like me, I fear. However, I will talk to him tonight. I heard he stays with you. Do you not find it difficult?”

Elrond grinned self-consciously at Thranduil’s knowing smirk before innocently asking the prince, “Who are you staying with?”

Thranduil shrugged pensively, “Alone,” seeing the worry flash across Elrond’s features he said hastily, “I genuinely chose to be alone, for I do not wish to seek pleasure with another now that I have bonded with her. She said she did not mind, but,” he shrugged again, “I thought I should not.”

“I know you have not slept well since you left your land,” Elrond sighed, “I can come at nights just to give you, you know, a sense of safety. No pleasure.”

“Erestor needs you more, I think,” Thranduil smiled softly, “I will manage, I had thought to speak with Lord Celeborn, he might stay with me. Now that we near the enemy’s realm, I need my rest.”

 

Elrond entered his tent quietly, he had spent a few hours walking in the encampment, thinking of their situations. Erestor was already in bed, his eyes closed as he turned onto the other side, in a deliberate way to prevent conversation. He had still not changed his torn robes, and Elrond could see the red mark of teeth on his neck as his hair slipped down.

“Thranduil came?” Elrond asked quietly as he smelt the distinctive scent of pine and cedar lingering within the tent.

“He did,” Erestor pulled the covers up higher, “I am sorry, Elrond, but I am not in a particularly conversant mood right now.”

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Elrond asked trying to suppress the guilt, anger and pain in his voice, he could not forgive Gil-Galad, whatever Thranduil had said.

“No,” Erestor said quellingly. Elrond sighed and crept beside him, turning to the other side, willing himself to ignore the slight wince that his companion made when he pulled to the far end of the small bed.

After a long moment, Erestor said quietly, “He was right, when you actually think of it. I cannot let my personal dislike of Isildur affect my counsel to the King. It is not as if he wantonly lets the human insult me or Thranduil. He cannot do much.” 

Elrond gave a noncommittal grunt. Erestor said dryly, “Come, Elrond, atleast he made it up to me today despite what you and Glorfindel think,” he paused before adding, “I cannot say that I did not enjoy it. It has been a long time.”

Elrond asked incredulously, “Even when he hurt you?”

“Well,” Erestor said with a hint of suppressed mischief in his voice, “I suppose he would put it the other way around. Whatever Glorfindel thinks, I can manage this. After all, a rather well-experienced prince taught me the ways of the bedchamber.”

 

Thranduil paced his tent angrily, he was tired and desired a good night’s sleep, but he could not afford to scare his warriors by screaming like a frightened elfling after his nightmares. Maybe, he should have accepted Elrond’s offer. No, he thought half-smiling, that would be a disaster with our mutual desire.

“My son,” Oropher greeted him as he entered the tent, taking in his son’s distressed pacing, “What is it? No company for the night? It is a remarkably long abstinence, if I may say so. And it obviously disagrees with you.”

Thranduil scowled at his father before walking to pull him into a chair by the low burning charcoal fire, he said pouting, “I will not break my promise to her.”

“Now you understand why I abstain,” Oropher smiled at his son’s faithful proclamation, “I am proud, but this promise is likely to send you to the healer’s, my son, what with your lack of rest.”

“Ada,” Thranduil rested his head on his father’s lap as he sprawled on the floor, “Stay with me, I am scared.”

Oropher pulled his son’s hair gently eliciting a muffled ‘OW’ before saying teasingly, “You make a strange bed partner, my son, one which I am not sure I should invite into my bed. Maybe you should ask Amroth, or Celeborn. Incest is not a boundary I am willing to cross.”

“I beg your pardon, Ada,” Thranduil looked up indignantly, “You estimate yourself overhigh! Thranduil Oropherion looks for a certain ‘something’ in his bed partners, which I can confidently say that a rusty old blade like you lacks absolutely!”

“Well then,” Oropher said laughing, “Maybe Isildur will match your criteria. Certainly, he will possess that ‘something’ you seek for.”

“I would rather sleep with Durin than a human,” Thranduil said laughing relieved to find that his father had left brooding over Isildur, “And with an orc rather than Isildur!”

“Then come, my son, lead this old blade to your bed,” Oropher mussed his son’s hair gently. 

Gil-Galad would never understand Oropher unless he had a son like this, the proud father thought as he watched Thranduil’s eyes dilate in reverie. He pressed a loving kiss on his son’s forehead before lying down.

________________________________________

* * *

“Elrond,” Thranduil said irritably, shoving his unkempt hair away from his face, as he barged into Elrond’s tent at dawn, “I need your consent to kill your kin, Isildur.”

Elrond sighed in exasperation as he sat up in his bed. Erestor was not in the tent as he had remained behind with the slowly progressing dwarven armies. The tricky alliances faltered as they neared Mordor. Now on the plains before the desolate land of the enemy, where they had camped until they could reorganise and finalise their tactics, Elrond was finding it increasingly difficult to manage the diplomatic façade that his position required him to.

“My prince,” Elrond automatically mumbled the response that he had given the fair prince so many times, “I would assist you to slay him.”

Thranduil scowled as he joined Elrond in the bed, lying by him, his head supported by his hands.

“What has he done now?” Elrond asked sympathetically, “Maybe you should have remained with Erestor and ridden with the dwarves. I hear that he is in good spirits.”

“Well,” Thranduil sighed, “Durin’s company has its merits, but I cannot let your Isildur fall prey to my father’s fury. As it is, I am resorting to desperate tactics to keep them apart. For Gil-Galad is right, we need Isildur’s armies.”

“If I were Oropher, I would act no different,” Elrond said frankly, “It is a miracle that the human prince still draws breath, for Glorfindel has been baying for his blood since their spat at the banquet all those years ago.”

“Yes,” Thranduil said morosely, “So has been Círdan and Celeborn. I am hard put to restrain the Balrog Slayer, the Mariner, the Silver Tree and my Ada from making Isildur history. None of them particularly care about diplomacy and all of them hate Isildur more than they hate Sauron. Now, I am struggling with the over protectiveness of the good King Amdir and his son.”

Elrond laughed, “Amdir still refuses to attend councils if Isildur is in attendance. Who would have thought that he loved his daughter’s betrothed thus?”

Thranduil said dreamily, “She will laugh when she hears of this, will she not, Elrond? That I would be so propositioned by a human with four grown sons? Ah, the decline of my grace!”

“I heard the good Isildur telling Gil that he admired your feminine beauty,” Elrond said wickedly.

He heard the expected sardonic snort followed by the wistful, “I wish, Elrond, that he had asked me before my betrothal, I could have proved him wrong. He would not have stirred for days, the insolent fool.”

“Will you not duel him?” Elrond asked quizzically, as he shifted position to place his head on the prince’s chest.

“I would, but we are on the enemy’s threshold. We cannot afford infighting. That is what Erestor said. And I trust his advice,” Thranduil murmured as he idly ran his fingers through Elrond’s hair.

“For someone who gives great advice,” Elrond said mournfully, “He still does not see my love.”

Thranduil snorted, the rumble in his chest tickling Elrond’s neck before saying, “That is one thing I have wondered about, Elrond. That you should have such kin as Isildur who proposition elves he does not even know when you, the mighty herald of the High-King himself, hide your love with friendship.”

“Still,” Elrond whined, “I have given him enough reasons to suspect.”

“He is no fool, Elrond,” Thranduil said drawing his fingers lightly along Elrond’s neck, making him shudder, “He is a diplomat and a strategist more intelligent than me. What I have seen, he will have seen earlier. Yet,” he paused as he felt Elrond’s pulse increase in anxiety, “Maybe he does not look for lust where he has never expected it to arise. It is as well. It is risky, for he is married to the High-King and you are betrothed to Galadriel’s daughter.”

“What would you have done in my place, Thranduil?” Elrond asked quietly, his heart beat an unsteady drum in his ribs.

“I,” Thranduil contemplated, “I may have answered that I would proclaim my love from the rooftops, had you asked me this before Anoriel,” his face softened, “Now, Elrond, I understand you, I would act no differently. I would only wish to see him happy and safe.”

“Elrond,” Gil-Galad’s sharp voice paused their idle conversation, “Come out a moment.”

Thranduil said lazily, “Go, see to it, and return, I feel too comfortable to leave and anyway it is better he does not see me.”

Elrond nodded as he got out of bed and pulled up the covers to Thranduil’s chest before throwing on a light tunic over his leggings and walking out. Gil-Galad stood with Glorfindel, both of them talking rather coolly, their relations had never improved after Erestor had first departed for Imladris and now, it was with increasing hostility they viewed each other. 

Glorfindel said, “Elrond, I want you to see this deployment plan.”

Elrond bent over to study the parchment, they discussed it for a while before Gil-Galad muttered, “I will help myself to water, Elrond. I am rather thirsty as the Lord Glorfindel had woken me from my rest.”

He entered the tent without hearing Elrond’s soft groan. Glorfindel asked him concerned, “Who is in there?”

A moment later Gil-Galad’s surprised exclamation could be heard followed by a rather sleepy prince saying, “Good day, Lord Gil-Galad. I thought I had lain to sleep in your cousin’s tent this dawn.”

Gil-Galad suppressed an impatient retort as he said calmly, “I am sorry to have disturbed your rest, Ernil Oropherion. I was merely surprised.”

Thranduil looked around before settling down into the bed muttering, “It is Elrond’s tent. Thank the Valar, my father would have skewered me had I awoken in your tent.”

“I do not cheat on my bonded-mate, Ernil,” Gil-Galad said defensively, tearing his gaze from the slender form on the bed, “Whatever he might presume to the contrary.”

“Well,” Thranduil snuggled into the bed, pulling the covers higher, “I did not imply that you would cheat on Erestor, my Lord. I merely meant that my father would have been displeased had I been found in your tent, in your company.”

“Oropher hates me,” Gil-Galad said harshly.

“So would you hate my father had he proposed to send your son as a consort to a human prince whose value of life and love is despicable,” Thranduil said evenly, his eyes holding the King’s boldly.

Gil-Galad shrugged, “I need to hold an alliance together, Thranduil, and I cannot afford Isildur’s withdrawal now.”

“Bed him if you will to keep your alliance intact, Lord High-King, but do not support him in my matter lest my father finally vents his anger on both of you,” Thranduil said quietly, “I cannot promise to hold him back if it happens.”

Gil-Galad nodded curtly and made towards the entrance when Thranduil called after him, “I too have scruples of honour, Lord High-King, I will not cheat on my fiancée, no more than you will cheat on your bonded mate.”

 

Celeborn watched with increasing apprehension as Oropher strode towards him, there was a fire in his cousin’s eyes that had been damped out centuries ago. 

He asked the King soothingly, “Are you well?”

“Celeborn, I would kill the human if I lay my hands on him, he was following my son around today morning!” Oropher said furiously.

“I will ask my wife to speak with Gil-Galad,” Celeborn said reassuringly. Oropher sighed as he relaxed into his cousin’s embrace and followed him into the tent. 

Celeborn made sure that Amdir and Oropher were engaged in the archery range, before he touched his wife’s mind. It opened to him immediately, concern and relief spreading through their bond.

 

Elrond lazily watched Gil-Galad duelling with Círdan, their perfect moves made the fight look like a synchronized dance. Something he had never achieved, his technique had always been brutal than elegant. But then, he had studied under Maedhros, whose style was a more dance of death than one of refinement. 

“Herald,” Galadriel’s voice invaded his mind, “You must go and inform Elendil of his son’s perversion of Thranduil. Oropher may do something rash, if we do not act quickly. You will start the battle soon, end this folly before that.”

“Tell your nephew,” Elrond said reasonably, “He is on better terms with Elendil.”

“By the time I persuade him to seek Elendil out, it will be too late. Oropher’s wrath is terrible, Elrond,” Galadriel intoned harshly.

He found himself at Elendil’s tent half an hour later. He wished he had thought to strap his sword on before leaving his own encampment. It is foolish, he thought severely, that I should need a sword in an ally’s tent. 

“Lord Elrond,” the human king was all politeness as he ushered Elrond into a comfortable chair and remained standing, “How may I help you?”

Elrond wished that Erestor had taken on this matter, the chief counsellor was an expert in these diplomatic nonsense. He took a deep breath and said, “It is a delicate matter, King Elendil, one in which I seek your counsel as a kin.”

Elendil frowned, but pushing a chair facing Elrond, he seated himself expectantly.

“Isildur’s pursuit of the Greenwood Prince must stop,” Elrond said firmly.

Elendil laughed, “My son is determined to get a taste of that handsome wood-elf. I have tried talking to him, but to no avail.”

“Thranduil is not a wood-elf merely, Lord Elendil, something you must be aware of. Unless you want the wrath of Oropher upon your house, stay away from him,” Elrond said severely. 

“I thought that the Prince was past his majority,” Elendil said curiously, “Is it not an elven custom to let the children choose for themselves after they come of age?”

“Oropher is not a usual parent, Elendil,” Elrond warned, “He will go to any lengths if Isildur persists. The last thing we need right now is a battle amongst our allies when we are at his doorstep!”

“What will you have me do, Lord Elrond?” Elendil shrugged, “I cannot send my son away, for he is needed on the field to command my men. If I speak harshly, Isildur and Anárion as well as my grandsons will rebel. I will try, with whatever authority I still have over them.”

Elrond got to his feet saying, “I am grateful to you then, I hope that you have more success than any of us had in this matter.”

Elendil bowed reverentially before his ancestor’s brother and then said hesitantly, “Lord Elrond, in our family, we have passed down the ages, a book, a journal of our first King.”

“Of Elros?” Elrond asked wide-eyed, his twin’s mortality was something that he had never recovered from. The barely healed wound in his flesh sprung open fresh. In his presence, his friends usually avoided the topic of his twin as they did that of his fostering by the sons of Fëanor.

Elendil reached out to steady him, but Elrond shook his head determinedly. 

Elendil continued, “While it is a treasured heirloom of our royal house and much revered by his descendants, I think that it is yours now,” he went over to a chest and then carefully extricated a silken covered book, “I and my heirs are far too removed from the first King to be enamoured by this.”

Elrond reached with shaking hands for the book and then whispered a soft statement of gratitude before turning swiftly onto his heel and leaving the tent. His breath was rushed and he panted as he reached his own tent. The braziers were already lit as Erestor moved about in the tent, carrying scrolls from the chests to the bed. He turned to greet Elrond brightly.

“You look horrible,” he remarked concernedly to Elrond taking in his disturbed features. 

Elrond shook his head silently as he clutched the book to his chest and slowly entered. Erestor dropped his scrolls to the ground haphazardly and moved to steady Elrond, whose cheeks were trailed by silent tears. Elrond remained silent and rigid even when Erestor gently sat him upon the bed before removing his boots and setting them aside. The counsellor then pushed him back upon the bed and stroked his head reassuringly. Elrond broke into bitter sobs as Erestor sang an old lay that had been Maglor’s choice whenever he had to contend with a twin pair of depressed foster elflings. 

When Elrond had finally stopped his tears, Erestor asked quietly, “You would desire privacy?”

Elrond said wearily, “I would desire company this night. I am not myself.”

“Then come, let us go to the pond and take a quick dip, Elrond,” Erestor said determinedly, “I stink of dwarven spirits and would not taint your bed.”

“And why should I accompany you?” Elrond asked half-amusedly.

“Because I desire company, ,” Erestor pulled him out of the tent, “It is a moonlit night, and this is likely to be our last bath before battle.”

“It is decided then?” Elrond sighed.

“Yes,” Erestor said quietly, “Would that peace would be ours without shedding blood. But we cannot. But you and I are not required to ride this week as Glorfindel and Círdan will lead our troops.”

They walked to the small pond companionably, their hands linked as they descended to the edge of the water. A solitary guard elf stood sentry as they undressed and entered the water. Elrond was careful to keep his eyes away from Erestor’s naked body and sighed mentally with relief when the counsellor was waist deep in the water. He joined Erestor and they lazily relaxed. 

“My friends!” Thranduil hailed them merrily as he took off his robes and discarded them on the rocks before diving in gracefully, “I had not expected company.”

Erestor said smiling, “Even we Noldor are in need of a bath occasionally, though we stay away from the dirty work.”

“’Restor,” Thranduil complained as he tried to dunk the chief counsellor who proved too wily for him, “Why cannot even a simple statement of mine escape your barbs?”

Elrond smiled as Thranduil moved towards him and demanded, “Do wash my hair, peredhil, I feel incredibly lazy.”

“You do know that your father has spoilt you rotten?” Erestor asked irritably.

“A fact that I am aware of every moment, ,” Thranduil pulled Erestor by a long leg and began washing Erestor’s hair, “Maybe I can spoil you rotten?”

They laughed and jested until Thranduil bid them good night and climbed out, his still wet form wrapped in a light robe that Erestor had loaned him. Elrond thought critically that the prince had never regained his true splendour after the trip to Mandos and back. Maybe after this war, he could persuade Oropher to send the prince and his betrothed to Imladris for a couple of seasons. His musings were interrupted as he heard the sudden sound of Thranduil’s startled shout followed by silence. Erestor and Elrond ran up the pond’s shore, wrapping their robes hurriedly about themselves, and reached the top. 

Thranduil was standing pressed against a rock, his robe parted open, revealing his wet torso. Isildur straddled him, one hand running lustfully down Thranduil’s chest, the other holding a sword to Thranduil’s upturned neck. 

Elrond said angrily, “Isildur, what madness is this? Release the prince now!”

He realized belatedly that neither Erestor nor he was armed even with a simple dagger. 

Isildur sneered, “Lord Half-Elven, you have enjoyed this desire encased in flesh,” he ran his fingers down Thranduil’s stomach, “So I have heard, perhaps you are jealous?”

“Leave him, Prince Isildur,” Erestor said his eyes flashing with suppressed anger, “And we will speak of this no more.”

“What is happening here?” Oropher’s stern voice asked them as he stepped into the moonlight, Amdir and Celeborn with him, “Isildur, release my son immediately.”

“I am sorry, my Lord,” Isildur said quietly, “I will demand a kiss of passion from him as his betrothed demanded scarce weeks ago. Then I will release him.”

Oropher strode forward angrily, “Let my son go now, you filth!” 

“Better manners, My woodland king!” Isildur said haughtily, “I merely wish to taste him,” he pressed the dagger against Thranduil’s slender throat, a fine line of blood erupted.

Oropher gasped and pleaded, the pride replaced by fear in his voice, “Let him go, Isildur, and claim what you would from me. Do not hurt my son.”

“Well,” Isildur tilted his head, “Maybe you can fill in for him, I do not much mind the age. After all it does not matter in an elf.”

“What do you want?” Oropher’s eyes were fixed on the dagger, abrading his son’s golden skin.

“Break your long celebrated celibacy with me, my Lord,” Isildur replied quietly, “and I will never harm your son again.”

“As you wish,” Oropher said immediately, “Let him go.”

Erestor cut in before the rest of the dazed elves could even blink, “Lord Oropher, I must insist that-”

“It is my son,” Oropher said softly as he walked towards Isildur, “And I would damn myself a hundred times than see blood on him.”

Elrond watched in helpless horror as Thranduil slowly inched his face towards his father and spoke, “Ada, he asks for a kiss from me. It is not much.”

“Yes,” Isildur paused, his expression guilty, “I would not attempt to demean you, Lord Oropher, a kiss from your son, and I shall leave.”

“My son will not kiss a swine like you,” Oropher said bitterly, “not even when the cost I have to pay is what you set it to be.”

“Isildur,” Elrond cut in, “Let the prince go now and we can still forget this.”

“No,” Isildur said sulking, “I ask for a kiss from the son or a night with the father.”

Thranduil said determinedly, “A kiss it is then, Elrond, Celeborn, hold my Ada back. Ada, I will finish this and return to the tent. You should leave now.”

Oropher opened his mouth stubbornly, but Celeborn and Elrond pulled him back as Isildur pressed his lips against Thranduil’s soft ones possessively. Oropher screamed softly before turning back and running towards his encampment, his eyes wild with rage and grief. Elrond, Celeborn and Amdir followed him in fear.

Erestor said calmly, “That is enough, Isildur, or I shall risk slaying you with my bare hands.”

Isildur broke apart and then slunk away through the bushes, leaving Thranduil to press his hands against his bruised lips, tears trailing down his eyes. Erestor did not speak as he moved to embrace the young prince of Greenwood, they stood silently, their breaths the only sound in the night.

“I am tainted,” the prince said sadly.

“You are a fool,” Erestor said gently, “that you would think yourself thus,” he pressed a chaste kiss on the Prince’s nose, a gesture they had shared many thousands of times in their long friendship, “Come now, let us go see your father. He must be worried.”

“He must be half-dead with fear,” Thranduil sighed as he rested his head against his companion’s chest.

 

Elrond tried to reason with an angry Amdir who was rousing his commanders from slumber, a feral expression on his visage.

“Stay away, peredhel!” Amdir spat, “He has insulted my daughter and my son by law!”

Celeborn entered the tent and pulled Elrond aside muttering, “I have tried to reason with Oropher. He is determined. I think you should run to Gil-Galad and seek his aid. I spoke with Galadriel, she agrees.”

Elrond sighed and ran to the high-king’s tent. Gil-Galad was about to retire. 

Elrond said panting, “Gil, Isildur assaulted and insulted Thranduil before his father. Both Oropher and Amdir are determined not to ride with the humans. They ride at dawn together to the black gates! Please, Gil, we must stop this folly.”

“I cannot, Elrond,” Gil-Galad sighed, “Oropher will not forgive the insult. Would that Galadriel was here. We can only ride alongside them when they charge.”

Thranduil and Erestor entered the tent, despite the situation they carried themselves with their usual pride. The Sindar prince’s lips were slightly bruised, the only visible indicator of his traumatic experience. Erestor’s eyes were cold as the chief counsellor reassuringly brushed past the prince to position himself behind his king.

The prince bowed to Gil-Galad before saying quietly, “The Kings of Greenwood and Lothlórien will ride for battle come dawn. As you well know, the numbers are not sufficient. I will not see elves slaughtered on the plains. If you can, I beg you to ride with us.”

“Does Oropher know you are asking this of me?” Gil-Galad asked.

“No,” Thranduil said firmly, “And he will not accept it if he knows. But I think not of your pride or his will, but of my people.”

Elendil made his way in saying sadly, “My sons will not ride with the Greenwood army, Gil-Galad. I know of no way to persuade them.”

Thranduil said softly, “I would beg Isildur himself if it would help. I cannot willingly lead my elves to death.”

“My prince,” an aide entered, “your father awaits you at the barracks.”

Thranduil sighed before embracing Elrond tightly murmuring, “To think that we were laughing mere hours ago.”

Elrond said firmly, “We will lead our host soon enough, I will get our commanders.”

Thranduil smiled sadly at Gil-Galad, who was still trying to reason with Elendil, saying, “Lord Gil-Galad, I see that you have already forsaken elven wisdom for human lust. This is how your ancestors fell, my lord. I warn you.”

Elrond averted his eyes and strode out; Thranduil was already walking towards his father’s tent.

“My prince,” Elrond caught up with him, “Will you talk with Oropher again? Grief and vengeance are not good in a battle.”

“I know, Elrond,” Thranduil wearily pushed his braids away from his face, “And I fear. But I will speak with him. You make haste and array your troops.”

Elrond pulled him into a rough embrace whispering harshly, “Take care of yourself, .”

Thranduil returned his embrace whispering as he looked at the red sky to the east, “It will be a bloodbath.”

 

Erestor asked Gil-Galad quietly, “You will send out Glorfindel and Elrond?”

“I woe this,” Gil-Galad murmured as he watched the long plumes and the shining shields of the armies of Lothlórien, Greenwood and their dwarven and human allies shimmer in the harsh dawn, “They will all die, and it will be my fault.”

“Send out our armies,” Erestor said softly, his eyes holding a silent plea as they looked into the King’s deep grey eyes, “There are too many souls who are riding to war not even knowing that a stupid man’s folly and a father’s love are the only reasons for this madness.”

“Glorfindel and Elrond will take a flank out,” Gil-Galad sighed, “So much for all those days spent strategizing, we are once again winded short by our own follies. I would slay Isildur with my bare hands if I could.”

Celeborn approached them, there was an unusual harshness in his blue eyes. He bowed to Gil-Galad before saying, “Will you join us? Or do you still justify the human?”

Gil-Galad sighed, “You are my kin, the humans are not. Yet for the sake of the greater good, I cannot choose,” seeing the coldness on Celeborn’s features, he continued sadly, “I will do what I can. Your blood, if spilt, is on my hands, I know.”

Celeborn gave a rolled up scroll to Erestor saying quietly, “I would trust nobody else with this,” he looked at the High-King angrily, “From Oropher, he wants it sent to the Havens and to Valinor by the first ship thither.”

“I will see to it,” Erestor said determinedly, “Celeborn, stay safe.” 

 

Oropher stood still as his son carefully arrayed him in fine elven armour. He wished desperately that he had sent his son across the sea, to the land of eternal peace. Despite his rigid composure, a single tear stained his hollowed cheek.

“Ada,” Thranduil knelt down to fasten metal claps on the boots, “You are my father, are you not also the king of our people? Is not their safety more important than my honour?”

Oropher said in a hollow tone, “Yes, my son, it is so. But what is done cannot be repaired. I have asked Celeborn to call for Gil-Galad’s troops. Durin will join us, he has sent word.”

Thranduil wrapped his arms around his father’s slender waist and rested his head against the armour clad chest whispering, “You are my father. I would love you no less if you signal for a halt to this now.”

Oropher raised him saying quietly, “I wish I could. My son,” he paused uncertainly, the fears in his mind looming like a huge spectre, “Will you promise me something?”

“As long as it does not involve something extremely sentimental,” Thranduil said smiling softly as he placed Oropher’s helm on his head.

“You must sail for Aman with Anoriel should anything happen to me,” Thranduil’s eyes narrowed at Oropher’s last words.

“You will be all right, Ada,” Thranduil chided glowering, “Even if I may knock you with the flat end of my blade after this for your stupid stubbornness.”

“Promise me,” Oropher begged, as he ran his fingers along Thranduil’s cheek, “Promise me that you will.”

“My Lord Oropher,” an aide entered, “The Lords are ready to ride and the troops are arrayed.”

Thranduil said quietly, “Come, Ada, let us make haste. I can promise you nothing. You are a king. And I am a crown prince. We have our own ties to bind us to Greenwood and to Middle Earth. Should I fall, you will have to remain to rule our fair woods. And should you not return, Ada, I will do whatever I can, though I,” he faltered, “I will no longer be what I am now. But we cannot selfishly rule our fates, Ada, there are those who need us, our realm needs us. We must return to Greenwood.”

 

________________________________________

* * *

“Lord Elrond”, the human king was all politeness as he ushered Elrond into a comfortable chair and remained standing, “How may I help you?”

 

Elrond wished that Erestor had taken on this matter, the chief counsellor was an expert in these diplomatic nonsense. He took a deep breath and said, “It is a delicate matter, King Elendil, one in which I seek your counsel as a kin.”

 

Elendil frowned, but pushing a chair facing Elrond, he seated himself expectantly.

 

“Isildur’s pursuit of the Greenwood Prince must stop”, Elrond said firmly.

 

Elendil laughed, “My son is determined to get a taste of that handsome wood-elf. I have tried talking to him, but to no avail.”

 

“Thranduil is not a wood-elf merely, Lord Elendil, something you must be aware of. Unless you want the wrath of Oropher upon your house, stay away from him”, Elrond said severely.

 

“I thought that the Prince was past his majority”, Elendil said curiously, “Is it not an elven custom to let the children choose for themselves after they reach their awakening?”

 

“Oropher is not a usual parent, Elendil”, Elrond warned, “He will go to any lengths if Isildur persists. The last thing we need right now is a battle amongst our allies when we are at his doorstep!”

 

“What will you have me do, Lord Elrond?” Elendil shrugged, “I cannot send my son away, for he is needed on the field to command my men. If I speak harshly, Isildur and Anarion as well as my grandsons will rebel. I will try, with whatever authority I still have over them.”

 

Elrond got to his feet saying, “I am grateful to you then, I hope that you have more success than any of us had in this matter.”

 

Elendil bowed reverentially before his ancestor’s brother and then said hesitantly, “Lord Elrond, in our family, we have passed down the ages, a book, a journal of our first King.”

 

“Of Elros?” Elrond asked wide-eyed, his twin’s mortality was something that he had never recovered from. The barely healed wound in his flesh sprung open fresh. In his presence, his friends usually avoided the topic of his twin as they did that of his fostering by the sons of Feanor.

 

Elendil reached out to steady him, but Elrond shook his head determinedly.

 

Elendil continued, “While it is a treasured heirloom of our royal house and much revered by his descendants, I think that it is yours now”, he went over to a chest and then carefully extricated a silken covered book, “I and my heirs are far too removed from the first King to be enamoured by this.”

 

Elrond reached with shaking hands for the book and then whispered a soft statement of gratitude before turning swiftly onto his heel and leaving the tent. His breath was rushed and he panted as he reached his own tent. The braziers were already lit as Erestor moved about in the tent, carrying scrolls from the chests to the bed. He turned to greet Elrond brightly.

 

“You look horrible”, he remarked concernedly to Elrond taking in his disturbed features.

 

Elrond shook his head silently as he clutched the book to his chest and slowly entered. Erestor dropped his scrolls to the ground haphazardly and moved to steady Elrond, whose cheeks were trailed by silent tears. Elrond remained silent and rigid even when Erestor gently sat him upon the bed before removing his boots and setting them aside. The counsellor then pushed him back upon the bed and stroked his head reassuringly. Elrond broke into bitter sobs as Erestor sang an old lay that had been Maglor’s choice whenever he had to contend with a twin pair of depressed foster elflings.

 

When Elrond had finally stopped his tears, Erestor asked quietly, “You would desire privacy?”

 

Elrond said wearily, “I would desire company this night. I am not myself.”

 

“Then come, let us go to the pond and take a quick dip, Elrond”, Erestor said determinedly, “I stink of dwarven spirits and would not taint your bed.”

 

“And why should I accompany you?” Elrond asked half-amusedly.

 

“Because I desire company, mellon-nin”, Erestor pulled him out of the tent, “It is a moonlit night, and this is likely to be our last bath before battle.”

 

“It is decided then?” Elrond sighed.

 

“Yes”, Erestor said quietly, “Would that peace would be ours without shedding blood. But we cannot. But you and I are not required to ride this week as Glorfindel and Cirdan will lead our troops.”

 

They walked to the small pond companionably, their hands linked as they descended to the edge of the water. A solitary guard elf stood sentry as they undressed and entered the water. Elrond was careful to keep his eyes away from Erestor’s naked body and sighed mentally with relief when the advisor was waist deep in the water. He joined Erestor and they lazily relaxed.

 

“Mellyn-nin!” Thranduil hailed them merrily as he took off his robes and discarded them on the rocks before diving in gracefully, “I had not expected company.”

 

Erestor said smiling, “Even we Noldor are in need of a bath occasionally, though we stay away from the dirty work.”

 

“’Restor”, Thranduil complained as he tried to dunk the chief counsellor who proved too wily for him, “Why cannot even a simple statement of mine escape your barbs?”

 

Elrond smiled as Thranduil moved towards him and demanded, “Do wash my hair, peredhil, I feel incredibly lazy.”

 

“You do know that your father has spoilt you rotten?” Erestor asked irritably.

 

“A fact that I am aware of every moment, mellon-nin”, Thranduil pulled Erestor by a long leg and began washing Erestor’s hair, “Maybe I can spoil you rotten?”

 

They laughed and jested until Thranduil bid them good night and climbed out, his still wet form wrapped in a light robe that Erestor had loaned him. Elrond thought critically that the prince had never regained his true splendour after the trip to Mandos and back. Maybe after this war, he could persuade Oropher to send the prince and his betrothed to Imladris for a couple of seasons. His musings were interrupted as he heard the sudden sound of Thranduil’s startled shout followed by silence. Erestor and Elrond ran up the pond’s shore, wrapping their robes hurriedly about themselves, and reached the top.

 

Thranduil was standing pressed against a rock, his robe parted open, revealing his wet torso. Isildur straddled him, one hand running lustfully down Thranduil’s chest, the other holding a sword to Thranduil’s upturned neck.

 

Elrond said angrily, “Isildur, what madness is this? Release the prince now!”

 

He realized belatedly that neither Erestor nor he was armed even with a simple dagger.

 

Isildur sneered, “Lord Half-Elven, you have enjoyed this desire encased in flesh”, he ran his fingers down Thranduil’s stomach, “So I have heard, perhaps you are jealous?”

 

“Leave him, Prince Isildur”, Erestor said his eyes flashing with suppressed anger, “And we will speak of this no more.”

 

“What is happening here?” Oropher’s stern voice asked them as he stepped into the moonlight, Amdir and Celeborn with him, “Isildur, release my son immediately.”

 

“I am sorry, my Lord”, Isildur said quietly, “I will demand a kiss of passion from him as his betrothed demanded scarce weeks ago. Then I will release him.”

 

Oropher strode forward angrily, “Let my son go now, you filth!”

 

“Better manners, My woodland king!” Isildur said haughtily, “I merely wish to taste him”, he pressed the dagger against Thranduil’s slender throat, a fine line of blood erupted.

 

Oropher gasped and pleaded, the pride replaced by fear in his voice, “Let him go, Isildur, and claim what you would from me. Do not hurt my son.”

 

“Well”, Isildur tilted his head, “Maybe you can fill in for him, I do not much mind the age. After all it does not matter in an elf.”

 

“What do you want?” Oropher’s eyes were fixed on the dagger, abrading his son’s golden skin.

 

“Break your long celebrated celibacy with me, my Lord”, Isildur replied quietly, “and I will never harm your son again.”

 

“As you wish”, Oropher said immediately, “Let him go.”

 

Erestor cut in before the rest of the dazed elves could even blink, “Lord Oropher, I must insist that-”

 

“It is my son”, Oropher said softly as he walked towards Isildur, “And I would damn myself a hundred times than see blood on him.”

 

Elrond watched in helpless horror as Thranduil slowly inched his face towards his father and spoke, “Ada-nin, he asks for a kiss from me. It is not much.”

 

“Yes”, Isildur paused, his expression guilty, “I would not attempt to demean you, Lord Oropher, a kiss from your son, and I shall leave.”

 

“My son will not kiss a swine like you”, Oropher said bitterly, “not even when the cost I have to pay is what you set it to be.”

 

“Isildur”, Elrond cut in, “Let the prince go now and we can still forget this.”

 

“No”, Isildur said sulking, “I ask for a kiss from the son or a night with the father.”

 

Thranduil said determinedly, “A kiss it is then, Elrond, Celeborn, hold my Ada back. Ada, I will finish this and return to the tent. You should leave now.”

 

Oropher opened his mouth stubbornly, but Celeborn and Elrond pulled him back as Isildur pressed his lips against Thranduil’s soft ones possessively. Oropher screamed softly before turning back and running towards his encampment, his eyes wild with rage and grief. Elrond, Celeborn and Amdir followed him in fear.

 

Erestor said calmly, “That is enough, Isildur, or I shall risk slaying you with my bare hands.”

 

Isildur broke apart and then slunk away through the bushes, leaving Thranduil to press his hands against his bruised lips, tears trailing down his eyes. Erestor did not speak as he moved to embrace the young prince of Greenwood, they stood silently, their breaths the only sound in the night.

 

“I am tainted”, the prince said sadly.

 

“You are a fool”, Erestor said gently, “that you would think yourself thus”, he pressed a chaste kiss on the Prince’s nose, a gesture they had shared many thousands of time in their long friendship, “Come now, let us go see your father. He must be worried.”

 

“He must be half-dead with fear”, Thranduil sighed as he rested his head against his companion’s chest.

 

 

Elrond tried to reason with an angry Amdir who was rousing his commanders from slumber, a feral expression on his visage.

 

“Stay away, peredhel!” Amdir spat, “He has insulted my daughter and my son by law!”

 

Celeborn entered the tent and pulled Elrond aside muttering, “I have tried to reason with Oropher. He is determined. I think you should run to Gil-Galad and seek his aid. I spoke with Galadriel, she agrees.”

 

Elrond sighed and ran to the high-king’s tent. Gil-Galad was about to retire.

 

Elrond said panting, “Gil, Isildur assaulted and insulted Thranduil before his father. Both Oropher and Amdir are determined not to ride with the humans. They ride at dawn together to the black gates! Please, Gil, we must stop this folly.”

 

“I cannot, Elrond”, Gil-Galad sighed, “Oropher will not forgive the insult. Would that Galadriel was here. We can only ride alongside them when they charge.”

 

Thranduil and Erestor entered the tent, despite the situation they carried themselves with their usual pride. The Sindar prince’s lips were slightly bruised, the only visible indicator of his traumatic experience. Erestor’s eyes were cold as the chief counsellor reassuringly brushed past the prince to position himself behind his king.

 

The prince bowed to Gil-Galad before saying quietly, “The Kings of Greenwood and Lothlorien will ride for battle come dawn. As you well know, the numbers are not sufficient. I will not see elves slaughtered on the plains. If you can, I beg you to ride with us.”

 

“Does Oropher know you are asking this of me?” Gil-Galad asked.

 

“No”, Thranduil said firmly, “And he will not accept it if he knows. But I think not of your pride or his will, but of my people.”

 

Elendil made his way in saying sadly, “My sons will not ride with the Greenwood army, Gil-Galad. I know of no way to persuade them.”

 

Thranduil said softly, “I would beg Isildur himself if it would help. I cannot willingly lead my elves to death.”

 

“Ernil-nin”, an aide entered, “your father awaits you at the barracks.”

 

Thranduil sighed before embracing Elrond tightly murmuring, “To think that we were laughing mere hours ago.”

 

He turned to Erestor, who said quietly, “I ride with you, my prince. Do not oppose me, for I have sworn an oath to your father to protect you. Even if I had not I would let you ride alone.”

 

Elrond said firmly, “I agree with him, Thranduil. We will lead our host soon enough, I will get our commanders.”

 

Thranduil smiled sadly at Gil-Galad, who was still trying to reason with Elendil, saying, “Lord Gil-Galad, I see that you have already forsaken elven wisdom for human lust. This is how your ancestors fell, my lord. I warn you.”

 

Gil-Galad said nothing as Erestor came to him and despite Elendil’s presence, the chief counsellor reached up onto his toes and kissed the King passionately, saying, “If I do not return to you, then I can atleast the comfort of the lingering taste of your lips on mine.”

 

Elrond averted his eyes and strode out; Thranduil was already walking towards his father’s tent.

 

“Ernil-nin”, Elrond caught up with him, “Will you talk with Oropher again? Grief and vengeance are not good in a battle.”

 

“I know, Elrond”, Thranduil wearily pushed his braids away from his face, “And I fear. But I will speak with him. You make haste and array your troops.”

 

Elrond pulled him into a rough embrace whispering harshly, “Take care of yourself, mellon-nin.”

 

Thranduil returned his embrace whispering as he looked at the red sky to the east, “It will be a bloodbath.”

 

 

Erestor asked Gil-Galad quietly, “You will send out Glorfindel and Elrond?”

 

“I woe this”, Gil-Galad murmured as he watched the long plumes and the shining shields of the armies of Lothlorien, Greenwood and their dwarven and human allies shimmer in the harsh dawn, “They will all die, and it will be my fault.”

 

“Send out our armies”, Erestor said softly, his eyes holding a silent plea as they looked into the King’s deep grey eyes, “There are too many souls who are riding to war not even knowing that a stupid man’s folly and a father’s love are the only reasons for this madness.”

 

“Glorfindel and Elrond will take a flank out”, Gil-Galad sighed, “So much for all those days spent strategizing, we are once again winded short by our own follies. I would slay Isildur with my bare hands if I could.”

 

Celeborn approached them, there was an unusual harshness in his blue eyes. He bowed to Gil-Galad before saying, “Will you join us? Or do you still justify the human?”

 

Gil-Galad sighed, “You are my kin, the humans are not. Yet for the sake of the greater good, I cannot choose”, seeing the coldness on Celeborn’s features, he continued sadly, “I will do what I can. Your blood, if spilt, is on my hands, I know.”

 

Celeborn gave a rolled up scroll to Erestor saying quietly, “I would trust nobody else with this”, he looked at the High-King angrily, “From Oropher, he wants it sent to the Havens and to Valinor by the first ship thither.”

 

“I will see to it”, Erestor said determinedly, “Celeborn, stay safe.”

 

 

Oropher stood still as his son carefully arrayed him in fine elven armour. He wished desperately that he had sent his son across the sea, to the land of eternal peace. Despite his rigid composure, a single tear stained his hollowed cheek.

 

“Ada”, Thranduil knelt down to fasten metal claps on the boots, “You are my father, are you not also the king of our people? Is not their safety more important than my honour?”

 

Oropher said in a hollow tone, “Yes, ion-nin, it is so. But what is done cannot be repaired. I have asked Celeborn to call for Gil-Galad’s troops. Durin will join us, he has sent word.”

 

Thranduil wrapped his arms around his father’s slender waist and rested his head against the armour clad chest whispering, “You are my father. I would love you no less if you signal for a halt to this now.”

 

Oropher raised him saying quietly, “I wish I could. Ion-nin,” he paused uncertainly, the fears in his mind looming like a huge spectre, “Will you promise me something?”

 

“As long as it does not involve something extremely sentimental”, Thranduil said smiling softly as he placed Oropher’s helm on his head.

 

“You must sail for Aman with Anoriel should anything happen to me”, Thranduil’s eyes narrowed at Oropher’s last words.

 

“You will be all right, Ada”, Thranduil chided glowering, “Even if I may knock you with the flat end of my blade after this for your stupid stubbornness.”

 

“Promise me”, Oropher begged, as he ran his fingers along Thranduil’s cheek, “Promise me that you will.”

 

“My Lord Oropher”, an aide entered, “The Lords are ready to ride and the troops are arrayed.”

 

Thranduil said quietly, “Come, Ada-nin, let us make haste. I can promise you nothing. You are a king. And I am a crown prince. We have our own ties to bind us to Greenwood and to Middle Earth. Should I fall, you will have to remain to rule our fair woods. And should you not return, Ada, I will do whatever I can, though I”, he faltered, “I will no longer be what I am now. But we cannot selfishly rule our fates, Ada, there are those who need us, our realm needs us. We must return to Greenwood.”

 

Thranduil watched uneasily as the long lines of archers and swordsmen of Greenwood marched proudly in their King’s stead. He gripped his hands tighter around his stallion’s mane before blending in smoothly with his father’s troops, talking merrily and raising their spirits. Whatever his personal fears were, he would not fail in his duty as the crown prince. 

Oropher turned once, to look at his son talking jocosely with his warriors. Proud, handsome, dutiful, Thranduil was everything anyone could wish for in a son. He sighed, as his son’s eyes sought his own, and held them for a long moment before breaking the glance to turn his attention to his comrades. Oropher prayed to the Valar to watch over his son. 

 

Erestor watched the rider disappear swiftly, a smoke of dust the only trace of his passing. He sighed and walked back to the tent he shared with Elrond.

Elrond was already standing outside the tent, arrayed in armour. There was a grim set to his jaw as he hailed Erestor and joined him.

“You leave?” Erestor asked quietly.

“With Glorfindel and Círdan,” Elrond said hollowly, “I pray that we are not too late. We have betrayed them enough.”

Erestor led him to where Gil-Galad was inspecting the armies, saying firmly, “You will not be late. And you shall not fail, Elrond,” he took Elrond’s hands in his own in an uncharacteristic display of affection before whispering, “The prince is no weakling, he is a proven warrior. Yet,” he hesitated, “I shall wait for you, for all of you,” his eyes lingered on Glorfindel, his mentor and friend and Círdan, his foster father. He felt fear and anxiety as a bitter wind blew from the east.

Elrond mounted his horse and said in a tightly controlled voice that he hoped betrayed none of his fears, “Bid me farewell.” It took him all of his restraint to not fall to pieces before Erestor’s bittersweet smile. They had both lost too much to not understand that this was the precursor of many more losses. 

Elrond held the High-King’s banner in his clammy hands as he turned once to see Erestor and Gil-Galad stand together, their left hands clasped together and their right hands raised in farewell. He raised his own hand to acknowledge their gesture.

 

“Is it true that we will all fall?” a young archer asked Thranduil, they had progressed swiftly, and were now crossing into the very courtyard of Mordor, the Morgul Vale.

Thranduil was rather in low spirits, he had jested with his warriors, exhorted them as a good leader should, even if he did not have the belief that they would prevail. And now he was being asked to speculate on their chances of survival. 

Biting his cheek to prevent a nasty retort, he smiled at the young archer and asked, “Is the result of any game known before you play it?”

“But this is no game, this is war,” the archer whispered, “My very first one.”

“Then let us hope that this is the last one you have to fight ,” Thranduil said easily, “Now I see that you have a reason to win, for if you win, then certainly, you need not leave home and hearth and wife anymore.”

“Are you not scared, my prince?” the archer asked hesitantly, “Do you ride willingly?”

Thranduil frowned, this was a question he had never asked himself. He stared at Celeborn and Oropher talking grimly before them, their faces shadowed by the darkness cast by the clouds. The hot wind had stopped, leaving behind only an eerie silence. The horses were tossing their heads nervously. 

“What is your name, my friend?” Thranduil asked quietly.

“Menor,” the archer replied softly, “My father was Haor, who died defending your retreat during the war of Eregion.”

Thranduil clasped the archer’s forearm firmly before saying, “I am glad to meet valiant Haor’s son. There is a debt to your father that I am honour bound to pay, Menor. I cannot say if we will all return, but I promise that I will strive to ensure that you return safely.”

 

Elrond watched Glorfindel close his eyes and cast his mind out to the surround. Whatever he sensed made him frown.

“What is it?” Elrond asked quietly, passing the banner of the Noldor to his second.

“Wraiths,” the Balrog Slayer muttered, “but they seem going northwards, towards the vale. Our scouts say that the armies of Oropher and Amdir have already entered the foul valley. They will be in trouble if the wraiths attack from one side and the goblins from the other.”

“What are we waiting for?” Elrond said curtly, as he signalled the warriors to move faster, “We have to stop the wraiths.”

Glorfindel paced his horse beside Elrond’s and asked incredulously, “How would you propose to do that?”

Elrond said emotionlessly, “I do not know, yet we must atleast draw them away.”

 

Thranduil felt a cold dread rise in his heart as the last of the warriors entered the valley. Before them stood the black gates of Mordor. He broke away from the lines of warriors and made his way to the front. 

Amroth, Durin, Celeborn, Orophin and Amdir were discussing the plans. They looked up as he rode quickly, a grim expression on his handsome features.

“What is it?” Oropher asked quietly.

“Wraiths,” Thranduil said flatly, “They will cut us off into the valley, we are trapped. When the gates open, there shall be no escape out of this cursed vale.”

Durin said coolly, “Yes, young prince. Then it is made imperative that we go on into Mordor. Battling orcs is easier than battling wraiths.”

“I agree,” Amdir said quietly, “We ride on.”

“And the wraiths?” Thranduil demanded as he scanned the dark skies, “I am more worried about the effect they will have on our warriors.”

“Two of us must stay at the rear,” Oropher said calmly, “To hold the warriors together. I would go.”

“Nay, cousin,” Celeborn said quietly, an unspoken fear in his eyes, “You and I are required to lead the armies. As are Amdir and Durin.”

“My son is too young!” Amdir spluttered, “as is the prince!”

“”I will go,” Thranduil said wearily, “Celeborn is right, the leaders cannot be spared. You are needed to lead the warriors. The fighting will be intensive and long at the frontlines.”

Oropher said softly, “I am glad, then, for I will not have you step in Mordor, better this accursed vale than the Dark Lord’s land.”

Amdir was about to protest but Durin said firmly, “So be it, then, young prince.”

 

Gil-Galad watched Erestor study the maps, his brows crinkled in concentration. The dark black obsidian mane was tied back into a loose braid. The brown tunic that the chief counsellor wore today fluttered gently about his frame.

“You are becoming thinner,” the King commented as he hugged Erestor from behind, “The war rations do not agree with you, my love. Come, let us see to our repast now, the messengers will not be here before dusk.”

Erestor leant back against Gil-Galad’s broader, stronger frame and closed his eyes saying wearily, “I am worried.”

“As am I,” the King sighed, “Yet I cannot unburden myself like you do, I am forced to take decisions which I don’t necessarily like....I wished to ride with our army today, yet if I do, who will manage the alliances?”

“Is Kingship a burden?” Erestor arched his neck and lifted his arms to twine them around the King’s neck.

“It is lonely. I was lonely,” Gil-Galad said softly, “When my uncle fell, I had to take up the crown. I was unprepared and too young. The expectations, the decisions to be made by me, the criticisms it was more than enough to push me over the brink of sanity. If not for Círdan, I would never have lasted. The kinslayings, the fall of Doriath, of Nargothrond, the retreat to Ered Lindon, it was terrible to live through. I wished more than once that I had kin, kin to whom I could just tell my fears.”

Erestor sighed, they had all lived through turbulent times, and now it was being repeated again, he said quietly, “You have kin, Gil. Is Galadriel not your aunt? Is Elrond not of your blood? Why, even Isildur carries Fingolfin’s blood!” 

“You forget something,” Gil-Galad nuzzled the long, slender neck thrown across his shoulder, “You and I are kin.”

“That is true,” Erestor said unwillingly, “but my house is dispossessed. It is no longer tied to the house of Finwë.”

“Nonsense. Ties of the blood are thicker than those of mere political machinations; we have lived long enough to realize that. Love does not take an easy path for us of the house of Finwë.”

“Yet we love, and we are happy,” Erestor smiled, trying to dispel the gloomy tone of the conversation, “At least I can say that I am happy.”

“I can never read your thoughts, my love,” Gil-Galad mused as he kissed the slender circlet on Erestor’s head, “I admit that I had never expected you to agree to my proposal. I thought that my soul would jump out of my body when you said ‘yes’.”

“Gil!,” Erestor complained, “Who would refuse the King?”

“Is that why?” Gil-Galad cupped Erestor’s face and searched those eyes for a glimpse of the truth, “Was that why you agreed?”

Erestor raised an eyebrow before muttering darkly, “You are lucky that only I hear these unreasonable words! The next thing, you will say that I do not love you!,” he dragged the King to the bed, “I am beset by desire right now. I think we should postpone this conversation for later!”

Gil-Galad laughed as Erestor pushed him down onto the mattress before straddling him and prying his robes loose. He asked breathlessly, “You are so passionate, I am still surprised as I had been all those years ago on the night of our bonding. How did you manage the separation?”

“All those blasted centuries,” Erestor said rolling his eyes, “I had a hard time, Gil. I would escape to the river every night to find relief. But infinitely worse was the journey here, I wanted you so much, yet we were not even on speaking terms.”

“You should never have cared,” Gil-Galad said hoarsely as Erestor ran his fingers down the smooth plane of the king’s chest, “you are my bonded-mate. I have a duty to you. The next time, just drag me to bed. Eru knows, you are quite adept at it!”

“I would never force you to bed,” Erestor said solemnly as he kissed the King’s fingers one by one, “I love you too much to do that.”

“Enough conversation,” Gil-Galad whined as Erestor teasingly smirked, all the while gently kneading Gil-Galad’s chest, “Get on with it before I have to take charge.”

“No,” Erestor said firmly, “You rest, let me do the work. Let me take you to a place where there are no burdens, no worries, no fears, just plain joy and ecstasy.”

“Valar,” Gil-Galad said with a mock furiousness, as he recognized the teasing notes of Erestor’s voice, “You will make me beg, won’t you! The next time I get my hands on that perverted princeling who has taught you these techniques, I will ask him to teach me!”

 

Elrond cursed as a shadow blotted out the sun, next to him Glorfindel was shouting, “Archers! Wraiths, take the mounts down!”

Orcs streamed down the sides of the mountains. Elrond raised his sword and shouted, “For the King! CHARGE!”

Glorfindel and Círdan took up his warcry and they charged up the slopes to meet the enemies head on. The Balrog Slayer stayed close to Elrond, his eyes alternately scanning the skies and the slopes of the mountains. For now the wraiths seemed to be avoid the hosts of the Noldor making further to the east towards the mouth of the valley. Glorfindel cursed as they met the first line of the orcs, his eyes still on the wraiths, which were disappearing swiftly. 

 

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment as shrieks of the wraiths rent the silence. As if on cue, the black gates opened and the hosts of Sauron poured out. The army was closed in between the enemy. 

He heard the clarion calls of the heralds dimly resounding over the shrieks, the battle had begun at the frontlines. A gigantic shadow loomed over him before the wraith landed with a thud behind the warriors. 

Thranduil signalled his second to sound the horn, then he unsheathed his sword and shouted, “DEATH TO THE FALLEN! FOR ELBERETH!”

Yet another wraith landed before him as he charged forth, his hair streaming behind him like rippled silk. A part of his brain observed that he was alone, the warriors had fallen silent, their fear pervading the air. 

He promised harshly, “I will come back to you, Ada, I will, even if I have to defy Mandos a second time.” 

“An ill-begotten get of the elven king dares to challenge us?” a powerful high voice asked with malicious joy as the two wraiths circled his nervous stallion, “Are you not scared, young fool?”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes and said in Quenya, “There is no fear in a heart that knows no darkness.”

“You will suffer long and hard, princeling, and you shall pray for death. You shall know fear and darkness both,” the wraith said ominously before swinging its mace downwards, colliding with the elven armour on Thranduil’s stallion’s flanks. The horse buckled down, but still refused to collapse, it held its head high and proud. At the next swing of the mace, Thranduil parried with his sword, Galadriel’s green gem set in the metal glimmering brightly. 

“You have spirit indeed, let us how long it stays with you, princeling,” the wraith sneered as it swung its mace again. Thranduil easily parried it, though his sword trembled in his hands at the force of the mace. He sensed movement behind him, the second wraith was moving in. The flurry of arrows in the air reduced as his warriors seemed scared of striking their prince. And none of them were ready to join him. Well, Thranduil mused darkly as he swung around to keep both the creatures in his sight, Wraiths are wraiths, and nobody would willingly fight them unless they are stupid, over-loving sons like me. 

A moment later the wraith to his right swung its sword at him, he leapt away to just have his breastplate crushed in by the wraith before him. He fell backward, but still managed to somersault once and land on his feet to face them again, his breaths unsteady as he tried to overcome the pain in his chest. 

“Tired of the play already, princeling? We thought you had Vanyarin blood in your rotten veins, is this all you can give?” the voice taunted as the wraiths moved closer, their black clad forms towering above him. 

Thranduil grit his teeth and moved backwards trying to regain his bearings. But he knew when the wraiths swung their blades smoothly, at the same time, that he could not prevail. He shivered once before swinging his own blade. Metal crashed against metal and he fell backwards, this time he landed on his back on the rocky ground. His sword flew from his hand to land nearly six feet away. The wraiths advanced, their swords held loosely as they surveyed the vanquished prince. Thranduil tried to lift his head defiantly though his entire body throbbed painfully from the impact of the fall.

“ELBERETH!” a voice he could recognize anywhere shouted. Thranduil saw a black stallion charge in, shielding him from the wraiths. The battle lust in the rider’s eyes was matched only by that of Glorfindel. 

Two of the warriors hurried to help the prince up. He shot them a glower before shaking his head to clear his fogged senses and picking up his fallen sword quickly. He rapidly mounted a mare that had been led to him and turned to face the wraiths, which were fighting fiercely with his saviour.

Thranduil added his own warcry as he joined the rider and they fought together, their movements synchronized by centuries of practicing together. The wraiths were now on the defensive, unable to claim an advantage over the two elves fighting so fiercely.

The clarion call sounded again, two short notes, followed by a longer note, the gates were breached. The warriors cheered lustily and pressed on, the wraiths inched away slowly till they could discard their cloaked shapes and travel formlessly. Thranduil buried his face in his mare’s soft mane, thanking the Valar with all the strength he could find.

A hand gently gripped his shoulder and he arose saying with a wry smile, “What would I do without you?”

“You would try more foolishness like this, two wraiths at a time! Who do you think you are, a balrog slayer?” Erestor shook his head in horror, “I nearly fainted outright when I saw you duelling them.”

“Why are you here?” Thranduil asked wearily as they turned to follow the rest of the decimated army through the path littered by corpses of orcs, men, dwarves and elves, “Has Gil-Galad joined us?”

“No,” Erestor sighed, “The humans of Gondor are giving him a hard time. We received a message from Elrond that their army was hemmed in at the marshes by an orc host. They said they would not able to meet your host. So Gildor and I led what remained of the army of Imladris here, through the pass across the mountains. And I abandoned the host when I saw you having the best fight of your life here. Poor Gildor must be cursing me.”

Thranduil nodded and asked concernedly, “Is Elrond safe for now?”

“Glor will keep them alive,” Erestor said confidently, “All it needs is one fool to save the rest as you proved so eloquently,” he looked over the prince’s form critically, “You should see to those wounds before you fight again.”

“I fear not,” Thranduil sighed, “We are riding into Mordor, in case you did not notice, we are not likely to have time to heal scratches and bruises.”

“We ride together, my prince,” Erestor whispered, “Is it not well that we struggle against this evil so that your children can grow in a safer world?”

Thranduil shook his head darkly, “Evil is not so easily vanquished, yet I am glad that you are by my side in this battle. I would have asked for no other.”

“We fight well together,” Erestor smiled, “That is what Gil said when he bade me farewell. Apparently he saw us duelling.”

“You are incredible to look upon when you fight,” Thranduil said sincerely, “You must have scared them away by your stance alone!”

“Whatever, promise me you won’t try that again any time soon,” Erestor demanded, “I did promise Anoriel that I would direct a rivulet to your secret glade in Imladris so that you can bath after certain strenuous activities. It would be a terrible waste of my time if you are not planning to return.”

“You smell of certain pleasant bodily fluids,” Thranduil sniffed Erestor’s body appreciatively.

“I rode to your aid right from our marriage bed,” Erestor said blushing, as a few of the surrounding warriors watched the prince sniff at the chief counsellor, “We had been, you know, just completing.” 

The clarion calls for battle sounded again, their faces changed from the relaxed expressions to that of warriors, on their alert. 

“We must reach the frontlines,” Erestor pointed out, “the attack is the most severe there. They will need us.”

“Who said a few minutes ago that I am eager to make myself a martyred fool? You know, ‘Restor, you act unimaginably stupid for a royal consort!” Thranduil shouted as he followed Erestor’s lead to the frontlines. 

The dark hair flowed down Erestor’s back as he turned once to spare the prince a withering look before nudging his horse into a canter again. Thranduil sighed, he was grateful for Erestor’s presence by his side.

 

Gil-Galad snarled angrily, losing whatever control he had over his temper and said brusquely, “They are my kin! My bonded mate, my foster-father, my herald, my aunt’s mate and my seneschal are all fighting! And now you say that none of this is your fault!”

Anárion defended his elder brother, “Isildur had never meant anything other than to distress the young elven prince. Not even in his wildest dreams had he expected Oropher and Amdir, not to mention the King of the Dwarves to ride for war!”

Elendil sighed, “What is done cannot be repaired, My Lords. I will lead an army of my warriors to the aid of the unfortunate soldiers who have been trapped by my son’s folly and Oropher’s over protectiveness. I will wait till the dawn for news before riding east. Isildur, you shall remain here to manage the camps and to liaise with our allies, your brother and sons may assist you to do so.”

Gil-Galad muttered angrily, “I think you should send your sons to fight, Elendil. Obviously all this lack of Gondorian brawling is driving them mad with desire for any young, handsome elf they fix their eyes on. First, it was Lord Erestor. We were all lucky that he did not have Oropher as his father. Now, you have touched Ernil Thranduil and Oropher is unfortunately his father! Eru knows how this is going to end.”

Isildur said sullenly, “I did not mean to hurt Oropher’s feelings. I was drunk. And he looked so beautiful in the light of Ithil. Never have I seen such magnificent perfection.”

“For my sake, Isildur,” Elendil growled, “Pray, keep your mouth shut. You have brought this upon us, and now we must all reap the consequences. Years of plotting and planning have been brought to nothing!” 

 

Galadriel sighed as she watched Anoriel and Celebrían light candles beneath the mallorn trees. Their faces were shadowed by fear and doubts, for their fathers, their cousins, their betrotheds, their kin and their friends. Galadriel smiled bitterly, once upon a time in her younger years, she would have lit a candle for her brothers or her cousins. Now, after years of loss and pain, she could not find it in her to light a single candle for her beloved husband. 

She sighed again as the wind rustled through the leaves, the mirror was calling, again. She had been defiantly avoiding the glade since her return to Lothlórien, she did not want to see images of the war and the cost it would claim. She did not have the courage and the spirit to bear that foresight. Nor did she have the ability to withstand the seductive call of her mirror. She turned slowly to walk towards the glade, after making sure that the two young elf-maids were still immersed in their tasks. 

Every step she took to approach the innocent looking basin cost her immeasurable pain. As she looked within the silvery depths of the water, tears flowed down her pale cheeks. Gil-Galad was pacing worriedly before a large tent. He seemed alone. The scene changed to show an army led by Elrond and Glorfindel battling an immense orc host. The expression of disgusted pity and revulsion that was mirrored on Elrond’s ivory features was matched in intensity by the hatred on Glorfindel’s fair face. 

The water changed to reveal Durin of Khazad-dum battling on the plains of Morannon with his doughty warriors, the grim set to his features the only indication that he did not find the situation pleasing.

Then Galadriel gasped in horror, Thranduil was fighting two wraiths, his stallion had fallen, yet the prince remained fearless. The wraiths brought him down, Galadriel pressed her hand to her chest, panting softly. Then a second rider appeared and put himself between the wraiths and the vanquished prince. Galadriel frowned as she recognized the pale aristocratic features and the ebony black hair of her cousin’s son. She had expected him to be strong to resist the darkness of Mordor, but she had never dreamt that he was capable of such a feat as he accomplished now. 

The scene shifted again to show her husband and Amdir fighting side-by-side. Their long swords glimmered in the dim light as they swerved, tackled, thrust and parried with the experience of centuries. 

A few leagues away from them, she could recognize the helm of Oropher, King of the Sindar. He was fighting gracefully, his eyes calm and focussed on his enemies. She screamed softly, her lips calling out a useless warning, as she helplessly watched a cave troll assail his mount with brute force. The noble creature whinnied in pain before falling to the knees. Oropher dismounted quickly, but not quickly enough to save himself from a fierce orc’s blow to his left shoulder blade. His eyes widened in shock and sudden pain as he clumsily staggered; his sword half-lowered.

 

Thranduil shouted in anger and pain as he watched his father totter unsteadily, fresh blood spurting from his wound. More than two dozen orcs separated the prince and the king. 

“Go, I will take charge,” Erestor shouted as he signalled the warriors to guard Thranduil’s back.

The prince did not need to be told twice. He pushed his way desperately through the battling orcs and elves, paying little heed to his own safety as he rushed to his wounded father’s side. He shouted again as another orc slashed its foul blade across Oropher’s broken, blood-spattered armour. Oropher fell to his knees, his lips parted in a silent scream of pain. Thranduil reached him, furiously slashing his way through orcs. As he dropped to his knees to catch his father’s collapsing form, he was sobbing helplessly. His father’s blood stained his hands. 

Oropher smiled painfully, “I know you would rescue a rusty old blade.”

“Ada,” Thranduil whispered frantically, “Stay with me, we will leave, we shall never return to this forsaken place. Stay with me, please!”

Erestor approached them and gently pried Oropher’s wounded body from his son’s hands and ordered, “Thranduil, take my stallion, ride for the camp with your father. I will guard your retreat.”

“The battle must be fought,” Oropher whispered, his eyes glazed in pain.

“It shall be, my lord,” Erestor said grimly, “Now, quiet and go safely with your son.”

 

Galadriel tried to send her energy to the wounded king, wishing desperately that she could bring him back to health. Thranduil was riding fiercely, salty tears streaming down from his green eyes onto his father’s face. He could feel Anoriel’s mind reaching out to him, in silent support. Maybe it was her strength that held him on his stallion, for he was weary, grieving and scared. As he literally ran his horse into the healer’s tent at the edge of the encampment, Gil-Galad arrived, the scouts having informed him of Oropher’s fall. The healers quickly helped the prince lower his father onto a mattress. As they began removing the broken armour, Thranduil stood by, tears streaming down his face, his father’s right hand still closed over his own. 

“My Lord, may we see to your wounds?” a healer asked tentatively. 

Thranduil shook his head fiercely as he knelt beside his father’s bed and prayed desperately. Strong hands guided him firmly, yet gently towards the next bed and coaxed him down to a sitting position. 

“He will be all right, he is stubborn and strong,” Gil-Galad offered weakly, as he sat beside the distraught prince, “Let us see to your wounds now.”

“He was twice pierced by foul blades, the poison has seeped through his blood,” Thranduil said bitterly, “I am no child, to make me feel safe by saying that he is all right.”

Gil-Galad sighed sadly as they watched the healers bleed Oropher to drain the poison away. The Sindar King was biting his lips, his eyes closed in pain, but he did not make a single sound, desiring to save his son from seeing him thus. 

Thranduil got to his feet and approached his father again watching the healers work silently. 

A few hours later, Elrond and Glorfindel entered the tent, their armour black with orc blood. Glorfindel stood next to Gil-Galad while Elrond approached the prince, who had not moved from his position.

“My prince,” Elrond said quietly as he inspected the bandages on Oropher, who was breathing harshly, “We need to draw out more blood. The poison still has a strong hold on him.”

Oropher gained consciousness for a moment, his green eyes automatically seeking his son’s and smiled gently. 

“Save your energy, Ada,” Thranduil said brusquely, “They want to bleed you more. I knew you could not even be trusted to look after yourself!”

Erestor entered at the moment with Celeborn, Gildor and Círdan, pallor even more than usual on his features. Celeborn rushed to his cousin’s side with a cry of horror. 

Oropher painfully raised his hand and ran the fingers down Celeborn’s smooth face, whispering, “I wished to see you, I am glad you are here, I…I do not know how longer your lady’s energy can sustain me.”

“ADA!” Thranduil knelt by his father’s side, “what are you talking about? Stay silent and let them heal you.” 

Oropher shook his head, “My son, bleed me not again. I am not strong enough to resist his call. I leave.”

Thranduil sobbed brokenly, “You cannot, I will follow you, Ada, I cannot live without you. You are my life.”

“As you have been mine, my dearest son,” Oropher gasped, “My treasure, my most precious treasure, yet, this is right, I go now to join my beloved and you shall return victorious to our realm as King and demand your bride from Amdir.”

Galadriel panted painfully as Mandos called to Oropher more determinedly, her energy was not enough to keep him here.

“Cousin,” Oropher said weakly, as he greedily pulled his son’s sobbing frame to his chest, “My treasure, I leave in your keeping. Keep him safe. I have sent a letter to his mother-kin. I pray he listens to them. Crown him.”

“Your son is my son, Oropher,” Celeborn said quietly, “By death or life, I will do my best for him.”

“I would see Amdir before I lose my body,” Oropher said quietly.

“He…he is wounded,” Celeborn hesitated, “As is Amroth. Durin has fallen,” he said sadly, “Ai! Isildur, look at what you have wrought!”

“It is the song of Iluvatar,” Oropher said simply, “Erestor, Elrond,” he lifted his head slightly, “Be there for my son, see that he reaches his beloved safely.”

Erestor knelt by him and kissed his forehead whispering, “He is a brother in all but blood, my King.”

Oropher smiled and then looked at Elrond, their eyes meeting each other, “And I thank you for the kiss. To you and Glorfindel, I wish you luck in love,” he looked at the golden haired elf. Lastly he stared at Gil-Galad one long moment before saying quietly, “Iluvatar’s song, not your fault.”

Galadriel fainted and fell on the mallorn leaves of the forest floor, her link to the Sindar King’s mind severed, only a faint wave of gratitude on his part for her assistance reached her.

Oropher convulsed before raising his eyes to meet his son’s imploring gaze and said serenely, “No father would have a better son. My golden star...” his eyes lost their light and his hands stilled in his son’s golden hair.

“Ada?” Thranduil whispered fearfully, “ADA!”

Oropher, Prince of Doriath, King of the Greenwood, had left his son alone in the cruel valley of Morgul Vale. 

Thranduil bowed, his head crushed against his father’s chest as he sobbed stricken. Gil-Galad, Círdan, Glorfindel and the healers moved out of the tent, their hearts cringing at the scene they had witnessed. Elrond watched the relaxed, calm features of Oropher’s body. Serene, soft-spoken, stubborn, sensitive, that was how the Sinda remained in life and death. An old worldly aura of refinement and decency hung onto him.

Celeborn told Thranduil gently, “We need to break this to Amdir.”

“You do it,” Thranduil whispered, “Elrond?”

Elrond nodded swiftly and left with Celeborn. They could hear Thranduil’s sobs even when they had stepped into the outside world. 

 

“The first casualty of war,” Círdan said brokenly as he stood with Gil-Galad watching the long lines of wounded and the dead being brought to the healing encampments. 

“Why is that only those who are loved the most are claimed?” Gil-Galad asked his foster-father sorrowfully, “They took my own father, well loved was he.”

“As was your grandfather, Fingolfin,” Círdan sighed, “As was Finrod, son of Finarfin. I have no idea, Gil, why is it that some are left to decay while others fall nobly?”

Gil-Galad rested his head against his foster-father’s shoulder whispering, “Glad am I that you and Galadriel have always been there for me. I do not know what I would do without you to light my way.”

“As Oropher said to his son, I say to you. You have a worthy bonded mate, he will light your path always,” Círdan said gently, stroking the King’s dark mane, “He is a noble soul, caring and intelligent.”

 

Anoriel gently helped Galadriel to a sitting position and asked her worriedly, “What was it that you saw?”

Galadriel shook her head mutely, her eyes red with her crying. Anoriel said firmly, “Tell me. I have lost my connection to Thranduil, though I can sense him safe. What is it?”

“Oropher,” Galadriel said quietly, “Oropher has fallen.”

Anoriel gasped and stood up, her eyes flashing with worry, “I must go to Thranduil; he will fade!”

Galadriel watched the young princess, dully thinking of her true resolve to aid her fiancé, before saying flatly, “It is a war, Anoriel, and that is why you will stay here. I will not let Thranduil fade. My husband will keep him safe.”

Anoriel left the older woman alone, running to Celebrían for comfort and solace, all the while sending her own strength to her bonded mate.

 

Elrond lent his healing energy to Amdir, the king of Lórien had suffered three blade wounds and lingered in the darkness of the poison. Elrond closed his eyes wearily thinking of the lives lost that day. Nearly the entire dwarven army had been decimated. Thranduil’s kingdom had lost most of their swordsmen and so had Lórien. The losses to the Noldor army were also immense. Elrond wished, not for the first time, that he could kill Isildur painfully. He had to admit that Glorfindel’s idea of kidnapping the human and using him as orc fodder had its merits.

 

Thranduil maintained his vigil by his father’s corpse, even after the healers had come to prepare the body for cremation. The light had gone out of his eyes, his face pale and stricken as he sat slumped by the mattress on which the corpse was laid out. The call to fade was strong, but Anoriel’s mind had opened to him, sending him comfort, love and solace. He sighed, he could not fade. He would have to continue his duties to his realm. At some point of time, Erestor had quietly helped him out of his broken armour and dressed his wounds. 

“He led half our army into the halls,” Thranduil said softly, “Fool.”

“He did that which the rest were afraid to do,” Erestor replied quietly, “He won the gates.”

“What shall I say to those who will question his folly in the days to come?” Thranduil said bitterly, “That Oropher, King of Greenwood led half his army to death merely because a human prince desired his son?”

“You will say that you had a noble, loving father, who always cared naught for his happiness and comfort as long as he saw you happy. You will say that he was a King, much loved by his people. You will say that he taught you to love,” Erestor said softly, his hands gently massaging Thranduil’s shoulders. 

“I am lost without him,” Thranduil whispered, “More than I can admit.”

“You are the son of your father,” Erestor said firmly, “He will not see you waste away with remorse, he called you his greatest treasure. Prove it, to the rest of us who doubt your father’s legacy. Prove it that you are your noble father’s son!”

“I am glad that I do not have to prove anything to you,” Thranduil said wryly, “For you have always seen me whenever I am broken or vanquished.”

“As you have seen me,” Erestor said tenderly, embracing the prince, “What are friends for?”

“Hold me tonight,” Thranduil pleaded, “For I fear that being alone with him..his body, would drive me insane.”

Erestor leaned his back against the tent wall and pulled Thranduil to him. They kept the silent vigil until dawn, their heartbeats the only sound in that tent of grief. Not for the first time, Thranduil wished that he could kill the human of Gondor slowly and painfully.

________________________________________

* * *

Gil-Galad asked the healers worriedly, “How is Amdir? And his son?”

“Lord Elrond is still with the King, my Lord,” a healer replied respectfully, “He has asked not to be disturbed.”

Celeborn joined them, a haggard expression on his features as he waited for the healers to leave. Gil-Galad dismissed them quickly and turned to face his aunt’s Sindarin mate.

“Did you hear of the dwarven losses?” Celeborn asked quietly, his eyes deep pools of sadness.

“Yes, that Durin fell bravely with his mightiest warriors,” Gil-Galad sighed, “Elendil and his men are bringing the wounded and the dead hither. They sent a missive to inform me of the situation. Círdan’s warriors hold the gates that has cost us dear,” anger flashed in Celeborn’s sapphire eyes, Gil-Galad said wearily, “I would return him to you if I could, my Lord Celeborn.”

Celeborn nodded curtly before saying, “We conduct the funeral tomorrow at dawn. He loved the dawn so. Amdir is recovering, as is Amroth. Elrond has not spared the least of his skills to make sure that they live. Anyway, all the kings and the leaders will arrive for the ceremony at dawn. I would be pleased if you take upon yourself the task of informing your indispensable human alliance partners.”

Gil-Galad said quietly, “Will the prince be able to light his father’s pyre?”

“He is not wounded,” Celeborn said coldly.

“I know well the pain of lighting a parent’s pyre, for I have done it twice. Once ceremonially and once, an actual pyre,” Gil-Galad offered humbly.

Celeborn’s features softened as the silver-haired lord said quietly, “So have most of us, My Lord. I pray that Amdir and Amroth escape the clutches of Mandos.”

 

Elrond watched Amroth’s blue eyes focus on him confusedly. 

“Welcome back,” Elrond offered as he raised a glass of water to the invalid’s dry lips, “I hope you are not in much pain.”

“Oropher?” Amroth asked hoarsely, “Did Thranduil get him here in time?”

Elrond forced him to swallow the water before saying quietly, “He was not able to resist the call.”

“The Ernil!” Amroth made to get up, Elrond frowned and pushed him back down saying, “Thranduil is not wounded. He is keeping vigil with Erestor in Oropher’s tent. And set your mind at ease, he is not fading.”

“Ada?” Amroth whispered, “Where is Ada?” 

“He was brought wounded, he is in the next tent. Do not worry,” Elrond reassured the prince, “He is recovering as we speak. Now rest.”

Elrond pressed his ear to Amroth’s falling and heaving chest. There was something malicious at work that he could not identify. He closed his eyes and sent his healing energy once more through the prince of Lothlórien. It was repulsed. Elrond frowned. Though the prince seemed to be recovering fast with typical elven standards, there was a nagging doubt in Elrond’s mind that just refused to go away. He took a deep breath and decided on his course. Casting his mind out, he tried to contact Galadriel.

“Lord Elrond?” a weary voice asked him as he touched Galadriel’s mind.

“Yes, My Lady, Amroth is wounded, and I am not able to sense what exactly is amiss,” Elrond said quietly, taking care to shield his thoughts from the lady’s powerful mind.

“Take his hand in yours, and let me try to sense his soul,” Galadriel replied. 

Elrond complied and he felt her invade his mind completely. He gasped in pain as his energy weakened, unable to withstand the invasion. Just as he was about to ask Galadriel to stop, she withdrew her thoughts and said thoughtfully, “It is the poison and more. He cannot fight any more, send him to me after… after tomorrow’s ceremony.”

Elrond assented and was withdrawing from her mind when she said softly, “Take care of the prince for me.”

“I will, even if you had not asked. He is dear to me,” Elrond replied seriously. 

 

Thranduil watched the torches burn out, leaving the tent lit dimly by the red rays of the approaching dawn. He sighed, as he looked upon his father’s body, arrayed in state, so perfectly calm, that he could believe that Oropher was merely resting. 

Erestor’s hands enfolded him tightly and he leant back, cherishing the quiet strength of his friend. Anoriel’s mind was still supporting him silently. He sighed again, Oropher was right. Even the bride that he had chosen for his son was the most perfect choice. Thranduil gently sent his own gratitude to Anoriel for her support, taking care to shield the raw magnitude of his grief from their bond.

“We should get ready,” Thranduil observed to Erestor as Celeborn and Elrond entered the tent quietly, “It is almost time.”

Erestor bent over Thranduil’s head to press down his soft lips on the prince’s nose whispering, “As you command, my prince.”

Celeborn helped Thranduil to his feet and said quietly, “I have brought you the robes.”

“Thank you,” Thranduil whispered as he stretched himself, “I will just wash myself and get dressed.”

Celeborn said gently, “I have had a barrel of water brought into the next tent. Come with me, I will help you ready yourself.”

Thranduil nodded and they left silently. Elrond looked over Erestor’s blood and grime splattered form and said firmly, “You come with me to our tent, you need to change. Glorfindel and Círdan as well as Greenwood warriors will stay here.”

Erestor got to his feet unsteadily, Elrond quickly looped an arm around his friend’s slender waist to support him. He frowned as Erestor gratefully leant in towards him.

“You are wounded,” Elrond accused as he caught the stench of fresh blood.

“I guess so,” Erestor tried a weak attempt at a smile as they made for their tent, “I was fighting in a battle that claimed half the warriors.”

Elrond pushed him in before closing the tent flap. Then he proceeded to get his healing kit and faced Erestor, an eyebrow raised. The chief counsellor sighed as he removed his armour and sword. Elrond winced as he saw the cut in Erestor’s tunic just above the stomach. Fresh blood shone dully on the cream tunic. 

“It is healing fast and it is not poisoned,” Erestor offered weakly, as he tore away the tunic clinging to his body. Elrond nodded in relief as he saw the fast closing skin above the long wound. He advanced and gently pushed down Erestor onto the mattress saying reprovingly, “You might have had a scar if you were unlucky.”

“Scars make a warrior, do they not?” Erestor bit his lips as Elrond’s fingers worked to stitch close the wound quickly and efficiently.

“Well,” Elrond smiled inspite of his dreary temper, “They do, atleast according to a certain Balrog slayer’s opinion.”

“Do not tell him,” Erestor begged, “He would kill me himself.”

“What was it?” Elrond asked as his fingers ghosted over Erestor’s pale unflawed torso despite himself.

Erestor closed his eyes wearily, “I am not sure, Elrond, it may have been my own blade for all I know. I barely remember anything. All my thoughts were for Oropher.”

Elrond sighed as he wet a cloth and gently scrubbed Erestor’s skin, his hands those of a clinical, duty-bound healer. Erestor relaxed beneath his skilful hands and a semblance of peace settled on his pale features. He got to his feet saying, “A set of black robes would do, will you get me one from my chest? I will just scrub down the grime from my lower body meanwhile.” 

Elrond averted his eyes as the chief counsellor removed his leggings. He strode across to the chest and rummaged about until he found a rich, sombre set of black robes befitting the occasion. 

He straightened out the creases and asked in a tightly controlled voice, trying not to think of the scene behind him, “Is it safe to turn?” 

“You are a prude, Elrond!” Erestor remarked teasingly, “Well, it is safe to turn.”

“You have been spending too much time in Thranduil’s company,” Elrond retorted as he turned back and shuddered at the sight of Erestor wrapped in a thin towel. Erestor was running a comb through his dark tresses unmindful of Elrond’s fanciful dreams as he snatched the set of robes and threw them on carelessly before tying up the various knots and sashes deftly. Elrond decided that changing his tunic was not an option with his current bodily dilemma. He decided to wear his formal robes directly over his tunic to solve matters.

“As if it is not hot in this accursed land already!” Erestor said sarcastically as he shook his head at Elrond’s actions.

“Comment on it more, and I will have to tell Glorfindel and my cousin about that pretty stitch I put in a few minutes before,” Elrond warned.

Erestor gracefully tilted his head in acknowledgement saying, “Point taken.”

 

They walked to Gil-Galad’s tent. The King was already waiting with Círdan, clad in deep brown real, yet sombre robes. 

Gil-Galad kissed Erestor tenderly and then embraced Elrond before saying lamely, “It is time.”

“Will the humans come?” Elrond asked concernedly, “I do not think they should. The Sindarin warriors will not forgive them any time soon.”

Círdan replied, “Elendil is yet in the plains of Morannon. His sons and grandsons are sure to arrive.”

They walked to the Greenwood encampment. A large space had been cleared hastily for the funeral. Amroth and Amdir were already there assisted by healers. Celeborn arrived to greet the Noldorin delegation saying softly, “We are beginning. The Ernil is ready and wants to get this over with.”

A procession of Greenwood warriors silently bore the body of their fallen King to the slightly elevated firewood stand built for that purpose. Elrond felt Gil-Galad shudder beside him as the pallbearers set down their burden. 

The herald of Greenwood announced, “Crown Prince of Greenwood, Thranduil Oropherion.”

Elrond felt his breath catch as Thranduil walked to his father’s pyre-side, clad in pristine white flowing robes that fluttered about his slender frame. His hair was unbound and free of braids as it flowed behind him rippling in the dawnlight. Only the grief in his once twinkling eyes gave away his pain. 

His features were calm and serene as he bowed to the warriors and spoke softly, “The King of Greenwood loved the most to watch Sunrise. It is but fitting that we bid him farewell at the same hour of the day. We have shared many sunrises, each special to me. Yet, none of them were as special as yesterday’s dawn, for it was condemned to be our last sunrise together on Middle-Earth,” he smiled gently, “There is no defeat in fighting nobly and failing, that is what he taught me. He taught me to do my best, to never lose hope. That is what I promise to do. Before my father’s pyre, I swear before you, in the name of Eru himself, that I shall carry his burdens as long they are mine to carry. This war shall be fought and won, my fellow warriors. My father’s fall will not be avenged unless Sauron is thrown down!” 

He took up a blazing torch from a near-by aide and then stooped down to press a last kiss on his father’s forehead before setting the pyre aflame. Elrond convulsively grasped Erestor’s arm as they watched Thranduil unsheathe his sword and hold it aloft to the east in defiance. It was a sight none of them would forget as long as they lived, the defiance of a grieving son highlighted against the greedy flames of his father’s pyre.

“In the name of the Valar, we ask Lord Celeborn, kin to King Oropher to crown the heir to the throne of Greenwood,” the herald announced clearly. 

“That he should be crowned before his father’s burning corpse,” Círdan cringed, “It is not a fate I would wish on even Isildur of Gondor.”

“Yet that may be his fate,” Glorfindel said seriously, “To predict the song of destiny is folly.”

Thranduil knelt down on one knee, as Celeborn placed the mithril circlet of kingship on his nephew’s head. When the younger elf rose again, Elrond could no longer identify the fey, woodland prince whom he had met in Lindon centuries ago. Almost mechanically, Thranduil accepted the sceptre of office from his chief counsellor and then taking out a dagger from his swordbelt, he rend a cut on his right wrist and anointed the sceptre with his blood.

Celeborn proclaimed in a steady voice, though his eyes were sorrowful, “The King of Greenwood shall spare neither his flesh nor blood to protect his realm. HAIL, Thranduil, King of Greenwood!”

Elrond said along with the rest of those assembled, “Hail!” The jade, green eyes that flickered over him before moving to Erestor was shadowed by eternal grief and bitterness. A single tear flowed down Elrond’s cheek as he grieved for his friend’s loss.

As the new King of Greenwood arrived to greet his guests at his father’s funeral feast, Elrond stood back to watch him carefully. Thranduil greeted Amdir and Amroth politely, enquiring about their injuries and well-being. Then he turned to acknowledge Círdan and Glorfindel. 

Gil-Galad joined them and bowed to Thranduil saying, “King Thranduil.”

Thranduil smiled before returning the obeisance saying, “High-King Gil-Galad, I am glad that you could be here today.” He turned away swiftly before Gil-Galad could reply. 

Elroond sighed as Isildur and Anárion entered the tent, dressed in black tunic and leggings, their deportment sombre. Thranduil waited for the human prince to approach him and bow. 

Isildur said politely, “My condolences for your losses, Prince Thranduil.”

“I am King now because of the afore-mentioned losses, Lord Isildur,” Thranduil said emotionlessly, maintaining eye-contact till the human was forced to look away in deep shame and guilt. 

 

“Our Ernil is lost somewhere in the person standing before us,” Elrond remarked to Erestor, who had been standing next to him, “Will he ever return?”

Erestor sighed, “It will take a lifetime of men or more in the gardens of Lórien to heal his soul, I do not think we will see the woodland prince again. But he will survive, I pray.”

“We will make sure he does,” Elrond said reassuringly, “What else are friends for?”

* * *

Elrond wiped his sword on his soiled tunic before commanding his men to start the dreadful task of carrying the dead and the wounded back to their camp. Yet another day in Mordor, he sighed, it had taken forty days of battle to claim the gates completely. Now they had moved their camps into the vale of Morgul. 

“Glad to see you standing,” Glorfindel pushed his way through the throng of warriors to Erestor, who was calmly counting the corpses and jotting down their names on a piece of parchment.

Erestor smirked but did not look up, his friend’s voice reassuring him of his uninjured state. Elrond joined them and clasped Glorfindel’s arm in a gesture meant to provide as well to receive solace. Erestor looked up and nodded to himself taking in Elrond’s uninjured form.

“You left out a few lying to our right,” Glorfindel said sarcastically as he peered at the list over Erestor’s shoulders, “You do know that you are worse than a carrion bird!”

“Indeed, Glor,” Erestor raised an eyebrow, “You bring me someone who will take this upon himself and I will stop.”

“Unfortunately, Lord Erestor,” Glorfindel smirked, “Nobody is as cold-blooded as you.”

“I do what I need to do,” Erestor said reprovingly, “Make yourself useful or leave me alone!”

“Thranduil will fight from the next battle, I hear, he will come out of mourning this week,” Elrond remarked as he surveyed the battlefield to make sure that there was none he could help with his healing skills.

“I hope not,” Erestor sighed sadly, “Amroth has left and Amdir is wounded. Celeborn has enough tasks with their absence. If Thranduil fights then the silver tree will have to take on more responsibilities. Our friend has always been a risk taker.”

“I heard about the episode with the wraiths from Gildor,” Elrond said furiously and turned to Glorfindel, “Did you know that he charged on two wraiths alone?”

Glorfindel turned to ask Erestor incredulously, “Is he right?”

“Are you accusing dear Elrond of lying?” Erestor raised an eyebrow before returning to his count.

Glorfindel said angrily, “I will speak with Gil concerning this! One of these days you will pay for your recklessness, Erestor!” 

“Is heroism confined to your domain?” Erestor spoke innocently before resuming his toll unperturbed.

Glorfindel opened his mouth to retort, but a rider hastened across the plains, dressed in the green and brown colours of Greenwood. The rider pressed a scroll in Erestor’s hands before hurrying towards Celeborn’s troops on the far side of the plains.

Erestor cleared his throat and said softly as his eyes scanned the unsealed scroll, “Amdir has left us for Mandos’s halls. Thranduil will need us.”

 

Thranduil dressed himself hastily in white robes, it was the second time he was wearing them. He sighed as he tried to provide Anoriel whatever succour he could through their bond. Amroth was fading. Amdir was dead. Thranduil wondered how she could possibly cope with this.

“Are you sure that you are strong enough to do this?” Celeborn asked quietly as he entered the tent.

“Yes, Celeborn,” Thranduil said firmly, “His son is not here, none of his kin are here. I am the closest to him, and moreover he asked it of me as his last wish.”

“Valar save us all from further losses,” Celeborn said softly, “Amdir asked me to take your command in the matters of the army.”

“I know,” Thranduil sighed as he strapped his belt, “I pray that I can lead us all out again.”

 

Gil-Galad watched Elrond lead their warriors in silent procession to the funeral field. He followed his herald with the nobles of their realm, his brow heavy with sorrow and fears.

Thranduil lit his second pyre in forty days. His face was harsher than it had been at the beginning of their journey east. He was as handsome as before, but the fire in his eyes had been replaced by a coldness that was forbidding and distant. The barracks did not resound with his melodious laughter anymore. 

 

Elrond said clearly after they had all been summoned in the high-king’s tent, “We hold the Vale and the gates. We should press on and use our advantage while we can.”

“Yes,” the leader of the dwarves agreed, “Our warriors lose spirit with each passing day spent in this valley. Our leaders are falling.”

Elendil bowed in assent, “True, my lords. Yet my warriors would have a few days of rest and peace before they fight again.”

Gil-Galad nodded thoughtfully before saying, “What do you say, Lord Thranduil? You are to make the decision not only for your own realm, but for Lothlórien also.”

Thranduil rose to his feet gracefully, the black robes of morning floating about him gently, and said in an unwavering voice, “It is so, Lord High-King. I have decided to send back home the direly wounded and the weary of both my realm and Amroth’s. The remaining forces I shall club together and fight for our cause.”

“Who will lead them?” Isildur asked quietly, “You are in mourning.”

Thranduil met his eyes calmly saying, “Prince of Gondor, I will lead the warriors in forty days when I am finished with the rites and the mourning. Before that, Greenwood and Lothlórien will not lift their swords.”

“That will deplete our strength,” Gildor frowned, “Mayhap it is better for us all to rest for the forty days.”

 

They broke after the meeting. Elrond ran to intercept Thranduil before he could leave. 

“You have been avoiding me,” he accused as he fell into step with the king, “I wish for an explanation, Thranduil.”

Thranduil said forlornly, “I have not been deliberately doing that, Elrond. I am merely trying to cope with all of this. At times like these, I feel out of my depth. I did not wish to make you endure my torments.”

Elrond pulled him into a nearby tent, which was empty fortunately. He hugged Thranduil tightly whispering, “I loved him too.”

“True,” Thranduil relaxed into the hug, “But I loved him more, Elrond. And I have not yet accepted that it is over. You will stay with me tonight?”

“Of course!” Elrond said softly, “You have to ask me?”

“I am afraid that I am in need of more than normal consolation tonight, Elrond,” Thranduil sighed, “I need to forget everything. I need senseless pleasure.”

“I am in more or less the same mood,” Elrond whispered heatedly into his friend’s ears, “To just feel without trying to understand. But I must remind you of your vow to your bonded mate.”

Thranduil released his hold on Elrond’s shoulders and stepped back sadly saying, “That is true. I cannot. I am sorry, Elrond. If I could-”

“Don’t,” Elrond raised a hand in protest, “You made a promise and we know that Thranduil Oropherion always keeps his promises’, he smiled tenderly before kissing Thranduil chastely on the forehead and whispered, “I will leave now. But never think twice to approach me should you need me whatever the matter is.”

How Elrond wished that he had been less noble. But he could never do a wrong by Anoriel how much ever he wanted Thranduil’s company.

 

Elrond watched Glorfindel walk away sullenly from the tent he shared with Gildor.

“What is it, Glorfindel?” he joined his friend, “Are you in mood for company?”

Glorfindel tilted his head thoughtfully before replying with his customary frankness, “I would talk with Erestor if I could. But, no, Elrond, I am not in a mood for your company, however much I love it.”

 

Elrond tossed about in his large, extra-large, bed waiting for a repose that never came. Sighing, he slipped on a tunic and walked out. In the dim starlight, a hooded figure stood before him.

“Thranduil,” Elrond whispered as he stood by to let the king in, “What of you vow to her?”

“She has given me leave,” Thranduil spoke softly, a gentle smile gracing his lips, “Now take me to the lands of peace and ecstasy, Elrond.”

 

Gil-Galad watched his herald walk slowly, carefully suppressing a wince whenever he increased the pace.

“Are you hurt?” the king asked his much younger cousin imperiously. 

Elrond turned to face him. There was a fresh look in his grey eyes and a happier aura. Gil-Galad frowned, “Elrond, come nearer.”

Elrond approached slowly, biting his lip as he took a longer stride. 

Glorfindel and Erestor, who had been talking softly with each other, turned to observe the proceedings. Erestor raised an eyebrow at Elrond smirking.

Glorfindel remarked, “I hope it is not your dastardly kin, Elrond.”

Elrond blushed before muttering, “It is not. Gil, I am fine. It is just over-exertion.”

“Stay in bed then,” Gil-Galad said worriedly, “You look ill-rested.”

“Are you sure that a bed is the best place to send him, my lord?” Glorfindel said teasingly, “That is how he came to be in this sorry state.”

“ELROND!” Thranduil strode quickly to their midst, dressed in one of Elrond’s own tunic and leggings, he winced in pain as he ran, “Celeborn has asked me to see him urgently. I must go.”

Gil-Galad raised his eyebrows saying quietly, “I did not think that you would repeat it with him. He is a king now and bonded to the princess of Lothlórien. Don’t you dare jeopardise his personal life! After the lengths his father went to avenge that Isildur incident, I am surprised that you would repeat the same folly!”

“Gil,” Elrond frowned, “I would never risk his personal life! And anyway it was nothing more than mutual solace.”

“Keep this away from Celeborn’s ears,” Gil-Galad muttered to his cousin darkly before walking away. He paused a few paces away and turned back to his herald saying, “Would you mind if Erestor moved in with you from tonight?”

 

“It is simple reasoning,” Erestor explained as he unbraided his hair before turning in for the night, “He will ride for battle from tomorrow. And he doesn’t want distractions at night in his tent.”

Elrond asked curiously, “But you are so quiet, I never hear the sound of your comings and goings.”

“I am not so quiet always,” Erestor offered before dousing the lamp and slipping into the bed beside Elrond.

Elrond forcefully pulled his mind away from the very creative imaginings it was drawing. Erestor continued, blissfully oblivious to his companion’s distress, “And I must say that you were very loud. Thranduil is intoxicating, but even so, you were loud. I had a hard time dispersing the guards before your tent this dawn.”

Elrond said disgruntled, “ Is there anything in the camp that you are not aware of?”

“Oh, yes,” Erestor said laughing softly, the sound a balm to Elrond’s ears, “Glorfindel and Gildor have fought, I do not know the reason yet.”

Glorfindel’s voice sounded from the tent opening, “’Restor, Are you asleep?”

Erestor got up from his bed muttering furiously, “And I was unhappy that I was unaware of the reason! I should learn to stop wishing.”

Elrond did not know when Erestor had arrived, but when he woke from his sleep, he saw the counsellor sleeping next to him, eyes closed in exhausted sleep. Glorfindel had worn him out.

Elrond indulged himself as his fingers threaded through the sleeping elf’s long dark hair. Erestor smiled in his sleep as Elrond’s fingers brushed his neck and snuggled closer. 

“He is so peaceful in his sleep,” Gil-Galad murmured as he came to stand by the bed. 

Elrond hastily withdrew his hands saying, “You ride today, cousin?”

“Yes, Elrond,” Gil-Galad sighed, “I cannot let Glorfindel and Isildur ride together. Sauron would not need to even stir from his lands to win the battle.”

They remained silent, the only sound the steady rise and fall of Erestor’s chest. Gil-Galad sighed again and kissed Erestor’s cheek chastely before nodding to Elrond and leaving the tent. Elrond shook his head at his own folly at being caught while secretly playing out a fantasy. He groaned as he determinedly slipped out of his bed. Erestor’s robe had parted open as the elf turned in his sleep. The fine rib bones jutted against his skin in obvious proof of Erestor’s emaciation. Elrond felt a sudden wave of tenderness lap against his heart. He strode out of the tent, the cold winds soothing his flushed, hot skin.

 

“Marchwarden, I must ask you to take a suitable force and bring our prince Amroth here. He is sick and fast fading,” Galadriel asked Haldir, as she entered his talan.

“He has to be crowned,” Haldir said softly, his fair features contorted by grief for his fallen King.

“Yes,” she said determinedly, “but it shall be under our mallorn. We will not crown our ruler in Mordor.”

“Thranduil was crowned thus,” Haldir said coldly, “And the command of our elves has been given to him!”

“Our wounded and weary elves are returning with the sick prince,” Galadriel said, “We must concentrate our resources to save their lives. Let Thranduil be guided by Eru to save the rest.”

“How many more will fall?” Haldir said as if to himself before taking leave of her. She stood alone, the wind rippling through the folds of her dress. She had forseen the fall of the one kin left to her on this side of the sea.

“What have you done, Celebrimbor?” Galadriel sighed in despair, “Who of us will repair your folly? Our houses are all but gone. Gildor and I are the last of my father’s line. He is heirless. My daughter will ever be more Sindar than Noldo, thank Eru for that. Elrond Peredhil is the last of Fingolfin’s house, he is more a healer and a scholar than a warrior,” her face twisted into a bitter expression, “And my uncle’s house! The dispossessed house, ever have they led us into peril. Celebrimbor, it was less your folly and more your cursed house’s fate that sealed your destiny.”

The wind became harsher. She took a deep breath and vowed, “By Eru, I will not let Sauron triumph as long as I draw breath. Whatever I sacrifice, I care not in the least if it will avenge the deaths of all parted from me. I will strive to save what remains of my grandfather’s kin at whatever cost. Enough have the house of Finwë sacrificed for the song of the Valar.”  
________________________________________

* * *

“You know that irritates me,” Erestor muttered as Glorfindel continued to sing a wooing song off-key. 

“That is precisely why I do it,” Glorfindel said before relapsing into his song.

“Eru!” Celeborn said sighing as he entered the tent and heard the song, “One would think that the war has taught you better, Glorfindel!”

“Certainly,” the golden-haired elf said merrily, “Irritating ‘Restor is mightier enterprise than killing orcs. Would you like to try, My Lord?”

Celeborn shook his head bewildered. Erestor offered quietly, “Gil is with Círdan at the barracks.”

“Thank you, Erestor,” Celeborn said gratefully and shot a disapproving glare at Glorfindel before stalking out.

“He has a nice body,” Glorfindel commented, “He looks so beautiful when he is angry.”

“And Galadriel might send a balrog at night to finish you off, ,” Erestor said wryly, “I refuse to sing a dirge for you.”

“I have mastered the knack of killing Balrogs by now, ‘Restor,” Glorfindel rested his head on Erestor’s lap and continued sleepily, “Anyway Galadriel is forgiving, as the incident with Thranduil proved.”

“Our prince has one thing that you can never hope to achieve, Glor, he has charm,” Erestor said smiling as his left hand nestled its fingers in the thick mane of golden silky hair while his eyes were still on the scroll held by his right hand.

“He is no more a prince,” Glorfindel sighed.

“To me, he will always be one,” Erestor shrugged as he pulled at a tangle in the hair, “Your hair is snarled. How did it come to this?”

“Ah! How the mighty have fallen!” Glorfindel made a dramatic gesture, then he fell back into his pensive musings and said, “I feel ill and depressed.”

“You need a good tumble,” Erestor said firmly.

“Your friend and my tent-mate Gildor is certainly doing that most of the nights,” Glorfindel laughed, “As for you, I hear that you have been thrown out of your tent into Elrond’s bed for your lack of control.”

Erestor sighed saying, “At least I am capable of feeling desire. Something you have long forgotten, Glor.”

“Maybe I should take a leaf out of Elrond’s book. He is having a wonderful time with Thranduil. These days, his saddle is lined by soft cushions and he cannot help blushing each time he sees the prince,” Glorfindel said amusedly, “Eru knows what they do in Thranduil’s tent.”

“Whatever they do, atleast Thranduil has returned to the land of the living. I had been worried for him,” Erestor said sincerely, “I would have given him the comfort if I had not been bound by vows.”

“You are so true to your vows, that is why Gil has no qualms in letting you share a bed with Elrond,” Glorfindel observed watching his friend’s expression closely.

“Elrond is remarkable,” Erestor offered thoughtfully, “Celebrían will find it difficult to bridle in his passion. He is aroused half-the-night and his skin is always flushed and hot.”

“And you do not react?” Glorfindel continued with his gentle prodding, “I would find it difficult not to react if I had been you.”

“I am a diplomat first, Glor, I have to play ignorant lest this becomes something sinister,” Erestor smirked, “Enough oaths have been broken in my family; I would not break my vows to Gil, even if the most sensual seducer arrived before me.”

 

Gil-Galad cursed aloud as he plucked out the arrow head from Celeborn’s arm.

“It is not poisoned,” the silver-haired elf said, “A mere scratch.”

“It shows that nobody is infallible, not even the hardiest of us,” Elendil said quietly as he gazed at the red sun, “So many of my generals have fallen. Three of my grandsons have fallen. I fear for all of us.”

“True,” Celeborn said fervently, “Glad would be I to just walk beneath the mallorn again, to hold my daughter in my arms again and to see my wife again.”

The redness of the dawn caught onto Gil-Galad’s mithril wedding band crafted by Celebrimbor himself, Elendil gasped in horror.

“What is it?” both Celeborn and Gil-Galad asked anxiously, looking about the subdued battlefield for threats.

Elendil said fearfully, “The rays of the blood red sun seem to enter your ring, Gil-Galad. In human customs, it is supposed to be ill-luck.”

“In what way?” Celeborn asked curiously, watching the said ring closely, “It is his wedding band, not a ring of power or of office.”

“Wedding rings hold more power than any ring crafted,” Elendil said solemnly.

Celeborn thought of his tumultuous marriage and said absently, “And they bring more chaos to our lives. But what did you mean by this human superstition?”

Elendil shrugged saying, “Those of Human settlements say that it means ill-luck. I have no further knowledge,” but his eyes betrayed him as they met Gil-Galad’s steady gaze.

 

Elrond kissed Thranduil gently on the soft, passion-bruised lips and left the King’s tent quietly. They had decided to keep their comfort-seeking a low key affair. He turned back once to see the young King awash in the soft torchlight and smiled. Thranduil was one of the most attractive creatures he had seen.

He returned to his tent to find it empty. Erestor had a left a short note on the bed saying that he would spend the night with his bonded-mate. Elrond knew that he should not brood, but a scowl settled on his features as he retired to sleep.

 

Glorfindel listened to the tell-tale sounds of lovemaking from within the king’s tent. He raised his eyes to the veiled stars and whispered a prayer to Eru. A stir of foreboding had risen in him as he had spoken with Erestor earlier. It was akin to his sense of doom before the sack of Gondolin. The day after tomorrow, they would all ride for battle, for they planned to lay siege to the dark fortress of Barad-dur itself. Glorfindel did not know who would return. 

 

He was panting in pain and fear as he looked up on the hated face. The same face that had shown so much kindness and curiosity the first time he had lain eyes on it. 

“They hope to destroy me, Ring-smith, and camp outside my stronghold with a paltry army of elves and men,” the form said jeeringly, “Fools, will they never understand my might?”

“The one before you was a Vala and he was defeated,” he spat, “You are but a Maia, Sauron.”

“Very well, smith,” Sauron laughed musically, the hatred and power burning in his eyes, “Once I was called Annatar, the giver of gifts. Shall I gift you a companion?”

He felt fear clutch tight his heart, “No,” he whispered begging, “None should suffer my fate.”

“Are you so easily broken then, smith?” Sauron smiled, “Then your line is indeed failing. I remember a proud Noldor prince defying my master, Melkor, till his cousin saved him. Where has that courage gone?”

He did not reply as he prayed desperately that no elf would be taken alive. Sauron continued as if to himself, “Maybe it is only you. Maybe the rest are better. I shall see. There are kin enough of yours in this battle, smith. Remember your high-king who sent an army too late to aid your city? Remember the king’s herald who has Melian’s blood in his mixed veins?,” his lips turned into a leer as he continued with quiet determination, “Ah! I have one more suited, my smith, one closer to you in kinship. You know of who I speak?”

He gazed into those yellow eyes as the realization struck him hard. He gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet and tried to lunge at Sauron, but invisible bindings of sorcery held him back.

Sauron said gleefully, “Yes, I have made my decision. It shall be another grandson of the spirit of fire. In him, I have already sensed the flame that shines in your line. Thrice has he defied my servants, the wraiths. Never again.”

 

Elrond screamed in fear and pain as Celebrimbor’s body was further tortured. Strong arms cradled him and crooned softly until his breathing had become less ragged and he opened his eyes. 

“My prince,” Elrond whispered as he shivered in Thranduil’s arms, tears fell down his face continuously.

“Hush!” Thranduil held him closer and soothed his hair until Elrond regained his composure and said quietly, “I had a nightmare.”

Thranduil remained silent for a few moments before saying softly, “I have one every night.”

“Yes,” Elrond sighed as he buried his head in the folds of Thranduil’s light robes, “I…It was more real than any dream. I saw Celebrimbor…and him. He said that the wraiths would take elves alive in the battle to come..to keep Celebrimbor company, elves related to Celebrimbor.”

“Elrond,” Thranduil pressed a kiss on the sweaty brow, “You are afraid, as you should be. I too fear. What if I fall? Who will take charge of my realm then? All of us ride in fear.” 

“You are afraid?” Elrond asked incredulously, forgetting his nightmare for the moment faced by this unexpected confession.

“Indeed,” Thranduil closed his eyes, “So far nothing has given me the slightest hope of victory.”

“Let us not talk of that,” Elrond rolled over onto his stomach and began exploring the slender neck of his friend with his lips, “Shall we forget?”

“I came to speak with Erestor,” Thranduil said suddenly remembering his reason to come, “Where is he?”

“With his mate,” Elrond murmured as he undid the ties on Thranduil’s robe and caressed the silky soft chest.

“I suppose that is an invitation for another round?” Thranduil said relaxing into Elrond’s touch.

“As long as you do the work,” Elrond said amusedly as he pulled Thranduil atop him, “Start!”

 

Celeborn frowned when he saw the empty bed in Thranduil’s tent. The guards had already told him that the young king was with Elrond. Celeborn did not understand why Thranduil, who was obviously in deep love with Anoriel, would risk a dalliance with Elrond. Now, the betrothal of Elrond to his daughter seemed all the more bitter. Elrond would not even give her what he gave Thranduil, Celeborn knew that well.

“No rest?” Círdan’s deep voice roused him from his musings. 

“Thranduil is not in his tent,” Celeborn said petulantly, “He is bonded and still carries on with his affairs.”

“Is it jealousy that I hear in your tone, ?” Círdan laughed as he came to stand by his kinsman.

“Whom am I supposed to be jealous of?” Celeborn retorted, “I was merely upset over the fact that he is with Lord Elrond, who is betrothed to my only daughter.”

Círdan rested his hand on Celeborn’s shoulder and said solemnly, “Have you not heard that the sins of our fathers rest on us?”

“Meaning?” Celeborn asked icily, “Are you saying that I am responsible for this mess? I have never encouraged this match from the first day.”

“One day you will know what I meant, Celeborn of Doriath,” Círdan said quietly before leaving the angry silver-haired lord to stew alone. 

 

Erestor said softly, “Gil, when we return to Lindon, shall we both spend a few days by the sea?”

“I would be your servant if you asked me to, my love,” Gil-Galad stroked Erestor’s body as they lay together, naked in each other’s arms.

Erestor smiled saying, “The things you say to make my blood rush, Gil!” 

“Why the sea?” Gil-Galad asked curiously, “I thought you preferred the valley you built for the refugees.”

“I want you to myself,” Erestor traced idle circles around one of Gil-Galad’s nipples before bestowing a kiss on it, “We have never had the time to be alone all these centuries. I want to know you. And want you to know me. We are bound in body and soul, yes. But in heart, we are yet distant. When have we taken the time off from our duties to have a breakfast together or to ride together or to do things that normally bonded couples do together?”

“If we win, then we shall take off a couple of centuries from work and retire to an isolated wood, and be together, will that please you?” Gil-Galad rested his left hand on Erestor’s, their bands glimmering in the firelight.

“Yes,” Erestor said dreamily as he drifted into reverie. 

The high-king of the Noldor watched him for a few moments before whispering, “What shall become of us, my dearest love?” 

 

Elrond rested his head on an elbow as he read his brother’s journal in the flickering torchlight. Next to him, Thranduil lay sleeping exhaustedly. Elrond had experienced the most magnificent coupling he had ever had that night. They were both desperate and starved for comfort. Thranduil had done all the work and was undoubtedly worn out. Elrond was himself feeling pleasantly drowsy yet active. Thranduil is a better elixir than miruvor, he thought dryly as he flipped open the thick book.

A parchment bearing the seal of the house of Finwë flew out and landed on his chest. Frowning, he opened it.

“Dearest Artanis,

I trust you are well. Our house is in chaos. Irisse has left Turkano and his hidden city to join Tyelkormo. Yet, she has not yet passed into his lands. We have all been searching for her in vain for the past few months. Russandol is afraid that she has fallen into the enemy’s hands. He has been organizing the searches. Findarato will come to fetch you back to Nargothrond. I know you will be upset to bow to our will. But Cousin, we merely want you to be safely with us.

Macalaurë.”

Elrond kissed the parchment where his foster-father’s hands had rested once. He could almost imagine Maglor sitting at his study desk and holding the quill against his cheek. As Elrond smiled wistfully and folded the parchment, he saw his brother’s scribbling, “They are still with us, in our hearts. We shall never forget those who came before us.”

Elrond said quietly, “Yes, brother , we shall never forget their lives and their sacrifices. You proved yourself worthy of our houses. Now it is my time to take the test, and Eru-willing, I shall not fail.”  
________________________________________

 

Elrond placed his quiver on his shoulder. The last finishing touch to his armour. He walked outside, looking up at the pale dawn. 

“Elbereth,” he whispered as he walked to the barracks, the banner of the High-king held in his hands.

Gil-Galad was already at the head of the large army, his finest warriors beside him. Elrond’s gaze travelled over the king’s shining armour that made him look like an infallible Vala. For the first time, Elrond felt hope in his heart as he looked upon his lord. Gil-Galad was the grandson of an elf who had wounded Morgoth himself in single combat. 

Next to Gil-Galad stood Glorfindel, his golden mane tied into a long braid, his lips curved in the familiar half-sneer and his eyes dilated with battle-lust. Then there was Círdan, ever sedate, yet powerful and solid. Elrond held the banner higher aloft. He was proud of his king, of his people and of their cause. Gil-Galad’s eyes flickered over him confidently. 

“A pretty picture you make,” Erestor murmured as he came to stand by Elrond. He was dressed in fine elven-wrought armour, his hair pulled away from his face. His dark eyes glittered with fire, the fire of his ancestors.

“A prettier picture you make,” Elrond replied as they began marching for the final assault on their enemy. 

They were joined by the hosts of Gondor, for once, Isildur stood by his father proudly as a son should. His face was set in a fierce mask, Elrond could now see traces of Elros in him. The army of the dwarves blended in smoothly and they marched on.

At noon, the host of Greenwood and Lothlórien joined the large army. Thranduil and Celeborn were at the head. Celeborn moved to join his kinsman, Círdan. Thranduil moved towards Elrond and Erestor.

“Lord Gil-Galad is different today. His soul shines with an unparalleled might. I have never seen an elf look like this,” Thranduil observed quietly, his fair features drawn into an awed expression.

“Yes,” Erestor said, “He looks to me like how Círdan used to describe Fingolfin and Fingon.”

Thranduil said nothing, but he frowned. 

“We may never return,” Erestor continued sadly, “We may never return to our lands that we have toiled so much for.”

“If we fall, we fall for the mightiest cause,” Elrond said softly, remembering Elros’s letter, “Is that not worth it? To me it is. That we follow in the footsteps of our forefathers.”

“Yes,” Erestor sighed, “That is the only thing that makes this bearable.”

“If we fall, we fall amongst friends,” Thranduil clasped them both by their forearms, “I would be honoured to fight beside you.”

“As we are honoured to fight beside you,” Elrond replied steadily, “Our friendships hold no regrets and will see us all through, Eru willing.”

 

Celebrían watched the candles she had lit for their fallen warriors. She could hear Amroth’s screams from her position. He had not gained consciousness since he had fainted on the journey home six years ago. Anoriel and Celebrían sat with him, talked to him, but there was no response. Celebrían had no idea how Anoriel had managed to cope with her father’s death, her father-in-law’s death, her brother’s condition and her mate’s peril. But the princess remained silently strong, aiding Galadriel to rule their realm and attending to her brother’s needs. Galadriel herself was another concern, Celebrían frowned. Though she bore no extreme love for her mother, it made her worried that Galadriel had changed subtly. Her mother’s eyes had the desperate determination of a person who would use any means to achieve the end.

A soft wind blew through the trees and extinguished all the candles. Celebrían felt tears gliding down her cheeks as she prayed for her father and the rest of those who were still alive.

Far away, on the banks of a river, a Silvan maiden sang lightly of love and freedom not knowing that she was the cause of a prince’s insanity. Celebrían cursed Nimrodel’s fair voice as she wrapped her arms around herself.

“It is a cold dawn, my lady,” Haldir stepped before her, his eyes flickering on the reddening skies above them. A shooting star fell from the skies, its brilliant light momentarily eclipsing the red dawnlight.

“It is a red dawn, marchwarden,” Celebrían said sadly, “And many more will fall in the cursed land.”

“Your mother’s house is to blame,” Haldir said harshly, “If not for their greed and pride, we would still be in Doriath!”

“Haldir,” Celebrían said quietly, the earnestness of her voice making him stare at her, “We do not choose our destiny. It has been pre-decided. Is it not better that we accept it and make the best of it?”

“Small comfort is that to me!” Haldir spat, “My brothers fight in Mordor. My king is dead. The crown prince is sick and fading. The king’s daughter is doomed to wear black when she should be rejoicing with her mate under the mallorn.”

Celebrían thought of Elrond, of their alliance by marriage. It would happen, however they strove to oppose it, for Galadriel’s will could never be vanquished. What then would remain for her? She looked at the handsome, yet, forlorn elf standing before her and sighed. 

“My lady?” he asked concernedly.

“You said my words are cold comfort. Maybe my body can be better comfort,” Celebrían met his eyes steadily.

“You are betrothed,” Haldir said uncertainly, his face shadowed by the trees.

Celebrían noted amusedly that he did not reject her outright. There was still hope. She crossed the distance that separated them and embraced him loosely saying, “That is my concern. Let us not think of what we are in this world. Think simply of these two bodies and the comfort we can derive from each other.”

 

Elrond tried to be everywhere at the same time, exhorting his warriors, helping Glorfindel lead the charge, and co-ordinating their armies. Erestor and Thranduil had separated themselves from the main charge and were engaged in a fiery, daring assault on the wraiths. Elrond stared at their synchronized dance of death for a moment before reverting to killing more orcs. Gil-Galad and Elendil fought side by side, their helms shining in the harsh sun. Elrond wondered at the strange light in his cousin’s eyes. Gil-Galad turned once and met Elrond’s gaze with a reassuring nod. Elrond smiled grimly, they would win.

A sudden horn, more piercing than any he had ever heard, disrupted the war. From within the ranks of the wraiths, a shadowy figure rose. It became larger and larger until Sauron the fallen stood before them, in black armour holding a large mace. Elrond’s eyes widened in fear as the yellow eyes, that he had seen only in dreams before surveyed the field. The eyes lingered on the high-king a moment before the figure raised his sword with a roar. It was then that Elrond realized that Erestor and Thranduil were still combating the wraiths, they had not even seen the arrival of the dark lord of Mordor.

Thranduil raised his sword in defiance as he stood back to back with Erestor, surrounded by a circle of nine wraiths. The witch king of Angmar, the leader of the wraiths, strode forward his blade dully shining in the sun. As Thranduil charged, his battle cry in Quenya, the entire battle seemed to have stopped. The witch king parried easily, the wraiths’s power increased by the presence of their lord. Erestor caught Thranduil and helped him regain his balance, and they began the deadly dance again. Elrond and Glorfindel rushed with a war cry to the aid of their friends. Celeborn, bound by his promise to his cousin, rode to Thranduil’s side.

Sauron’s eyes flickered over to them before he raised his arm, and swung his mace at those who stood before him Scores of elves and men were smote in the ash of Mordor by Sauron’s hand. Elendil raised a warcry and charged, the ring on Sauron’s hand shone and the hand swung the weapon throwing the last of the true kings of Númenor to the ground. Isildur rushed to his father, grief and fear on his dark features, abandoning his panic-stricken swordsmen.

Sauron turned to face the lone soul who had withstood his charge. Thranduil watched in horror as Gil-Galad, High-King of the Noldor, son of Fingon, son of Fingolfin stood his ground, his sword raised in eternal defiance of the darkness. 

Gil-Galad felt a dark calm pervading him. As he saw Sauron’s mace swing towards him, he smiled grimly. This was what his aunt had foreseen, he realized immediately. He would not return. He would not get the chance to fulfil Erestor’s wish, to know him better. It was over. He raised his lance and charged, his voice proud and clear as he shouted, “FOR ELBERETH!”

Celeborn watched in horror as a shining star rushed across the lines of fallen warriors towards the black lord. 

Erestor felt fear and love rush through their wedding bond in a staggering amount, disturbing his concentration and nearly making him faint. He turned about and screamed in fear and despair as the mace of Sauron smote down his king, his mate and his shining star that he had never had the chance to know completely. The white hot pain that flashed through their bond made him scream more louder and he convulsed falling to the ground limply. Strong arms dragged him up, but he did not care, not anymore as the bond between their minds broke leaving behind nothing but darkness.

Elrond’s sword fell from his arms as he watched his cousin being turned to ash at the burning hand of Sauron. He was dimly aware of Celeborn and Glorfindel rallying their soldiers, but made no attempt to assist them. The wraiths closed in around them. A hand, he did not know whose it was, placed his sword back in his hands. 

Elrond whispered to the skies above him, “Fair shall the end be,” though he no longer believed it would be. A star had fallen and it would never shine on them again. 

 

Tears flowed down Galadriel’s pale features as she watched her nephew die. The last of those who knew her as Artanis had passed to the eternal keep of Mandos.

 

Isildur took the shards of his father’s blade, Narsil, and got to his feet with a wild scream. He was alone, against Sauron. The elven leaders were fighting the wraiths and the human commanders had all fallen.

Sauron laughed, at the mortal man who had dared to challenge his might and swung his mace again. A surge of power shot through the human prince as he sliced the hand of the darklord and it fell with a thud on the ashes, the ring on one of the charred fingers. Isildur fainted, but in his last moment of consciousness, he reached out to grab the ring.

The wraiths disappeared, and the orcs scattered as the essence of Sauron vanished. The sun shone more brightly upon the battlefield. 

 

“Elrond,” Thranduil’s voice was weary, “Come with me.”

“I have to lead the warriors into Mordor and save any prisoners,” Elrond closed his eyes, his mind recalling the sharp images of Erestor falling limp in Thranduil’s arms when his bond with Gil-Galad had been severed, “I can trust in you and Glorfindel to keep him alive.”

“Mordor can wait,” Thranduil snapped, “He is dying, he is already on the brink of Mandos. There was some evil in Sauron’s sorcery, that is pulling him after the high-king to death.”

“The bond is broken,” Elrond murmured fearfully, “How then will it be possible?”

Thranduil’s hand pulled Elrond around so that they were face to face. There was a strange expression in Thranduil’s eyes, almost fanatical. 

“You said once that you would die to keep him alive, to keep safe,” Thranduil said sharply.

“I will,” Elrond said steadily, “If I can take his place, I would do so now. I would gladly enter the halls of death if it will save him.”

“Then there is a way,” Thranduil replied as he dragged Elrond into the hastily made tent where Erestor was. 

Elrond smelled the pungent fragrance of athelas as he entered with Thranduil. Gildor was sitting beside the prone form, holding Erestor’s limp hands in his own and rubbing the athelas. But the despairing expression on Gildor’s face sent coldness along Elrond’s spine.

“I cannot even penetrate the darkness surrounding his soul, Lord Thranduil,” Gildor said gloomily, “He is fast dying. Celeborn was here and Galadriel channelled her healing energy through him, in vain.”

“Gildor, will you get Glorfindel?” Thranduil asked softly, “There may yet be a way.”

Gildor nodded and left hurriedly leaving Elrond and Thranduil alone with Erestor. Thranduil moved quickly towards the prone form and hastily peeled away the shattered armour from the slender body saying, “Come, Elrond. Now is our chance to keep him with us.”

“My healing energy will not be enough,” Elrond said with tears flowing down his cheeks as he watched Erestor shiver in Thranduil’s arms. 

“Your healing energy is not required,” Thranduil said angrily, “Bind with him now, and pull him back.”

 

________________________________________

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Elrond could hear Thranduil and Glorfindel speaking in hushed voices outside the tent. He took a faltering step nearer the bed, tears flowing down his face as he saw the limp, shivering form before him. Erestor had become thinner; he had noticed it during the war. But the chief counsellor was usually in robes or armour that Elrond had failed to realize the actual extent of the gauntness. Now, clad in a simple black tunic and leggings, Erestor seemed ethereal and insubstantial in the flickering light of the single torch.

Elrond fell to his knees beside the mattress and clasped the unconscious elf’s hands in his and raised them to his lips, praying desperately to all the Valar he could think of. Erestor’s eyelids fluttered for a moment before the convulsions wracked his body again and he groaned in pain. The hands that Elrond held tightly were becoming colder as death raced through the limbs.

Elrond released Erestor’s hands and quickly peeled off his armour and clothes. With shaking hands, he drew a dagger from his discarded belt and pressed it to his wrist. Fresh blood spurted out. Blinking furiously to stop his tears, he took Erestor’s right wrist in his hand and made a cut in the pale, white skin. Blood trickled slowly. Elrond took a deep breath. If this worked, he would never be forgiven by Galadriel or Celeborn or their daughter, who was betrothed to him. Yet he found that he did not care. All he wanted was Erestor to live. He had loved the chief counsellor for nearly a thousand and eight hundred years from afar, watching him live with his bonded-mate. He could face that again, be content with their friendship alone. However furious Erestor would be, Elrond knew that with time, the chief-counsellor would forgive him. That was all that mattered to him.

Determinedly, he brought their wrists together saying in a clear, low voice, “May Eru bind me to you in blood forever. My blood is your blood,” he watched half-fascinated as his blood flowed into Erestor’s veins. 

The sheer force and strength of the newly formed bond made him giddy and exhausted. He rested his head on the side of the raised mattress, and watched relieved as Erestor’s face regained some colour. He murmured a prayer of gratitude to Eru and watched Erestor’s breathing become more regular. Now, it was time for the next part. Elrond shuddered. He did not have the courage to go on, but he knew that he would be too exhausted and unfocussed if he delayed this. 

Gently, he ripped away Erestor’s tunic with one hand, leaving the bleeding wrist still joined with Erestor’s body. Trying to suppress a gasp of pleasure that shot through him as he drank in the sight of the pale torso before him, Elrond carefully slit through the ties of the leggings and peeled them down. He sighed bitterly as his eyes roved the prone body that he had tried to imagine thus so many sleepless nights. His wish had finally been granted, but at a terrible cost. He tied bandages on their bleeding wrists.

“Elrond, hurry, Celeborn returns to the camp,” Glorfindel’s voice was sharp.

“I am sorry,” Elrond whispered as he lay down by Erestor’s naked form, “But you will forgive me, I know. You always have.”

He raised himself to his hands and knees and pressed a kiss on the thin, red lips he loved so much. His trembling fingers caressed the cold face as he greedily kissed his way down the pale throat. As he kissed in the crook of the protruding collar bone, there was a low moan from Erestor and suddenly, firm hands pulled Elrond up for a passionate kiss. Elrond found himself moaning in desire as a talented tongue delved into his mouth, teasing, twisting, exploring and claiming. The taste of blood and the less bitter flavour of Erestor’s tongue overwhelmed him. His fingers buried themselves in Erestor’s blood and dirt covered hair. Erestor swiftly reversed their positions, pinning Elrond down and continued his assault with the tongue down Elrond’s straining neck and chest. Elrond bit his lips to stifle a scream as Erestor’s tongue and fingers played alternately upon his nipples. As the tongue descended to his belly button, Elrond climaxed, the intensity of emotions within him too strong to be denied any longer. 

Erestor paused in his ministrations and shook his head trying to focus muttering, “You never are this fast, Gil.”

Elrond tried to tell himself that Erestor was not even aware of this in the drugged state, but he was not able to prevent a sob as he heard Gil-Galad’s name from Erestor’s lips. Somehow, he had hoped to hear his own.

Erestor shivered and lifted up Elrond’s legs to his chest. Elrond tensed, while he had centuries of experience with Thranduil, this was different. Erestor was not even aware of his actions, merely seeking to assuage his grief and lust. Elrond was unprepared and weak from the loss of blood. All his further thoughts were thrown out of his head as a sharp pain rose in his nether regions as Erestor entered him. His fingers clenched the mattress, and he screamed. The following moments were the most painful thus far in his long life as Erestor thrust mercilessly, crying our Gil-Galad’s name each time and Elrond felt something break within him deep inside. 

But still, Elrond remembered to pant, “Eru bind me to you in body forever.” He felt a flash of pain in him before falling limply.

Finally, Erestor climaxed with a powerful thrust and fell atop Elrond’s gasping body exhausted and sobbing desperately until he fell into reverie. Elrond lay still for a few moments before clumsily moving away from the mattress and pulling the covers over Erestor’s wet form. He dressed himself in just his tunic and stumbled out of the tent where Thranduil and Glorfindel waited. As if by prior agreement, Glorfindel entered the tent while Thranduil helped a dazed Elrond to his own tent.

“Did it work?” Thranduil asked quietly as he removed the torn, dirty tunic from Elrond’s trembling body.

Elrond was not able to hold onto his self-control anymore and he buried his head against Thranduil’s shoulder saying bitterly, “When have your ideas not worked, my prince? It was perfect except for that he was calling for Gil all through the binding.”

Thranduil’s hands soothed him as Elrond sobbed in grief for the price that Sauron had taken. He cried bitterly for the losses borne by himself, Erestor, Thranduil, Anoriel, Círdan and countless others. He was barely aware of a goblet pressed to his lips; moments later he fell limp and sedated against Thranduil, who moved him to a clean mattress and then began the torturous task of washing the bleeding body. 

 

Black eyes opened slowly and took in their surroundings. 

“You are awake?” a familiar reassuring voice asked quietly, “I had been worried.”

“Glor,” Erestor murmured and closed his eyes again trying to drown himself in the dark shadows of grief, “He left me.”

“He had no choice. He was the king of our people. You had always known that in the end his duty would exceed his love,” Glorfindel ran his hands caressingly over the cold face of his friend.

“Yes,” Erestor raised himself wearily, “Yes, , duty is a harsh master. He has done his duty. Now we must not fail in ours.”

“You are exhausted,” Glorfindel said determinedly, “Rest and let us do the work.”

Erestor smiled bitterly, “No, Glor, what more do I have to live for if not for my duty and my grief? I may not have loved him with my full heart, but I loved him all the same, more than I have loved anyone else. I will see his duty completed.”

Glorfindel did not reply, and bent over to kiss a tear-stained cheek. Erestor clutched onto his friend for support and raised himself to his feet. 

“Why am I naked?” Erestor asked wryly, “Did Thranduil try warming me?”

Glorfindel smiled softly and held out a set of deep blue robes. Erestor shook his head sadly saying, “Black it must be, .”

Glorfindel bowed in acquiescence. 

“Call the nobles and the alliance leaders to the high-king’s tent,” Erestor said unemotionally. 

 

Elrond walked alone to the high-king’s tent. He could already hear raised voices from within. Thranduil had decided to go with his commanders. Elrond entered the tent quietly. 

At one side stood Isildur, the heavy crown of Gondor resting on his dark hair. His eyes held bitter anger and pride. With him stood his brother, sons and nephews. His commanders stood farther away respectfully. Next to the human contingent stood the dwarves led by Durin’s younger son, as yet uncrowned. The eldest son and the crown heir had fallen in the last battle.

On the other side were the elven leaders. Círdan and Celeborn stood together, speaking in low voices. Glorfindel was conversing with one of Thranduil’s commanders. Thranduil himself was standing quietly, his gaze fixed on Isildur. Next to Thranduil stood a figure, Elrond had not expected to see.

Erestor was clad in sombre black robes, the rich blackness alleviated only by the sword at his waist. His hair was restrained by a graceful metal clasp highlighting the gaunt, yet, determined face. The black eyes met Elrond’s form and Erestor nodded slightly. 

“Now that the herald has come, we may start,” Círdan said in his deep voice.

“We need aid to find the body of my brother, our king,” Durin III said in his gloomy voice.

Erestor bowed saying, “Yes, my Lord, we have already sent Lord Gildor to retrieve the bodies of the fallen.”

“My father’s body? And the high-king’s body?” Anárion cut in. Glorfindel and Elrond looked at Erestor worriedly

“Lord Elendil’s body will be brought to your encampment,” Erestor said coldly, “And the high-king, I believe there is no body left.”

Anárion remained silent and Isildur said gravely, “Our condolences for your loss, Lord Erestor.”

Erestor bowed and continued, “Lord Círdan will speak on a different matter now.”

“I will not give up the ring,” Isildur said bluntly.

“King of Men,” Círdan said firmly, “you do not have the power to wield it. We should kill the ring and its master in Mt.Doom.”

“And if I refuse to?” Isildur asked, though his features were hidden by the darkness.

“Then,” Thranduil said coldly, “We will have another war, my lord, and this time we shall be on opposite sides.”

Anárion said softly, “We would not have war again, King Thranduil, enough blood have we shed by our arguments. My brother will not claim a bauble that cost my father his life.”

He turned to his elder brother and after a few moments of staring at each other, Isildur remarked, “Who will lead me to Mordor? I will not enter that accursed land on my own.”

“Whom will you accept?” Erestor asked quietly, “You do not give most of us the respect we are entitled to.”

“I will take my kin,” Isildur said grimly, “I respect Lord Elrond the most amongst you.”

Erestor’s eyes flickered over Elrond, who nodded. 

Círdan said, “So be it, lord Isildur.”

 

Galadriel watched the images in her mirror in rising horror. Elrond had bound himself to Erestor, the pain on his features overcome by the nobility of their bond. 

She asked to herself, “Why did the Valar allow this bond? Even in death our marriage vows hold.”

Then she realized the exact situation, Erestor was not bound to Elrond. It was one directional, Elrond had not completed the cycle. 

“Oh, half-elf, your sense of rightness will be the fall of you,” she said bitterly.

“Naneth,” Celebrían joined her, “Are you speaking to yourself?”

Galadriel did not have the courage to look into her only child’s eyes. She had just seen the elf she had betrothed her daughter to bind himself to another. Elrond would never bear love of that intensity towards anyone else. And yet, bound by her oath to avenge her kin, Galadriel knew that she would sacrifice her daughter to a loveless, farcical marriage. Celebran would never forgive her. Celeborn’s love might overcome his disgust. But Galadriel was sure that she would never stop hating herself.

 

Elrond led Isildur through Mordor towards the mountain.

“Even the fiercest thunderstorm cannot undo this,” Isildur said bitterly as he looked about the charred corpses of elves, dwarves and men.

“Thus it was thought after the war of the wrath. Yet Angband was cleansed,” Elrond said thoughtfully, his eyes resting on one particularly mangled elven remains. Was it Celebrimbor?

“Have you found any prisoners?” Isildur asked quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

“None so far. But only Thranduil is willing to go into Barad-dur itself. He is a king,” Elrond sighed, “And cannot be allowed to do that. What of the human sides? Will you lead a search party?”

“Lord Thranduil is a noble soul,” Isildur said with an uncharacteristic sigh, “Much pain have I caused him. No, Lord Elrond, my men lack the courage to step foot within the fortress.”

“I cannot blame them,” Elrond said quietly, “We have all seen enough of these black lands. I am honoured to escort you, Isildur, but I cannot claim that I like this journey.”

“Nor do I,” Isildur fell into his own thoughts before asking, “Was Círdan right? Will the ring harm more than heal this wounded land?” he unclasped his shirt and fingered the small circlet that was their journey’s end.

“The ring may heal,” Elrond shrugged, turning his eyes away as Isildur stroked the ring, “But they say he created it from his own heart, filled it with malice. So I don’t think it can heal.”

“It is powerful and has lent him strength and wisdom,” Isildur argued quietly, never taking his eyes off the ring.

“Isildur, you are making me nervous,” Elrond muttered as he picked his way up the rocky, mountain path leading to the cave, “Come, watch your step and let us hurry. I wish to get this over with. There are many whom I must tend to at the healing tents.”

“Lord Erestor has recovered well enough,” Isildur said meaningfully, “I suppose as you are the next in line for the crown, he becomes your possession.”

Elrond had a sudden urge to push Isildur into one of the many magma pits around. He clenched his teeth and did not reply. 

They entered the cave and stood before the large chasm of molten lava. Elrond felt the malice in the surround suffocate him, he wondered absently if Isildur did not feel it. But then Elrond realized that the malice seemed to be directed from the human. Alarmed, he refocused his attention. Isildur fingered the ring, apparently debating within himself.

“Throw it in,” Elrond whispered with a sinking feeling, he knew then that Isildur would not do it. The lust and raw desire in the human’s eyes nearly made Elrond stagger in shock. 

“Why should I?” Isildur purred, “Afraid I will overwhelm your elven realms?”

“Throw it in, Isildur, before it ensnares you completely,” Elrond grit his teeth and clasped his hand on his sword. Isildur was ensnared already.

“I see no reason than the fear of the unknown, Elrond,” Isildur said quietly, his eyes gleaming in the red darkness of the cave, “I do not fear it.”

“If you do not throw it in, I will have to do it,” Elrond drew his sword high, “Whatever the cost. My king did not die in vain.”

“You cannot defeat me, Elrond,” Isildur said with a sneer, “Not while I have this with me. But you are welcome to try and fail. I will enjoy killing you and throwing your body into the chassis. But,” his face became cruel, “The one whom you saved by binding,” Elrond gasped, “Yes, Elrond, naught is hidden from me when I have the ring. Erestor will die if I kill you. Your strength keeps him alive. His family is doomed to everlasting penance in Mandos. Would you want that?”

Elrond stood back, his head lowered in shame, grief and defeat as Isildur walked out of the cave laughing. He would not pursue Isildur and fall nobly in a duel. He needed to live, live for Erestor. He would not condemn Erestor to Mandos. Some decisions had no choices. He would bring darkness on Middle-Earth a second time by his actions, but he thought grimly, so be it.

________________________________________

 

Elrond watched the long lines of elven warriors move slowly through the war-wracked lands. Thranduil and Celeborn had decided to keep to the borders of the river of Anduin and reach Lothlórien. From there Thranduil would take his depleted army to Greenwood. As for the Noldorin armies, Galadriel had called for a council in Lothlórien. They would need a new high-king.

“I hear they call this the last alliance of elves and men,” Glorfindel said softly as he joined Elrond.

“It is reasonable,” Elrond nodded, “For Greenwood and Lothlórien will never forgive men for the loss of their kings. And our people may also bear everlasting grudges; Gil was much revered. I, for one, will never forgive Isildur.”

They stood in silence awhile before Glorfindel said quietly, “Erestor does not sense this bond. He thinks that his bond to Gil was not strong enough to cause him fading. Will you tell him the truth now?”

Elrond shook his head, his eyes fixed on the lines of the marching armies as he said firmly, “I cannot do that. You know what he will do.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel sighed, “He will insist on sailing to Valinor or may even choose to end his own life. For he believes you to be in love with someone and has never looked upon you with desire, he will be shocked to know that you sacrificed your happiness in love to save his life.”

“I do not wish to return to Lindon,” Elrond said, thinking of all the memories that he would be haunted by if he stayed in Lindon.

“Nor do I,” Glorfindel admitted, “Gildor was telling me that he finds Imladris more strategic for the future. If you would shift to Imladris then I can do the same. That way, I will have Erestor’s company too.”

“I will think on this, Glorfindel,” Elrond promised, “But we cannot decide anything before the council comes to a decision.”

“Glorfindel,” Celeborn’s voice interrupted their conversation, “There is a problem with the allocation of rations, would you check this?”

Glorfindel patted Elrond’s back and left to answer Celeborn. Elrond wrapped his cloak tighter about his frame and walked to his tent. They would start their journey tomorrow. Back to their homes, though Elrond was not sure where he would go. He fell into a bleak musing as he thought of all the sorrows of the past seven years. 

“Elrond?” Erestor stood at the entry to the tent, clad in his mourning robes, “May I come in?”

Elrond waved him in and watched sombrely as Erestor sat by the bedside, his hands clasped in his lap.

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life, Thranduil told me that you healed me,” Erestor said sincerely, his black eyes holding Elrond’s gaze, “When even Galadriel was unable to heal me.”

“Nothing that you would not have done for me,” Elrond fought a cringe as he remembered vividly the last time they had been alone. The forceful kisses and the passionate lovemaking had kindled in him a desire for Erestor surpassed only by the love he bore the chief counsellor.

“You are ever my saviour, Elrond,” Erestor said seriously as he leaned to take Elrond’s hands in his own, “I have lost count of the number of times you have saved me. I do not know how I will ever cancel that debt.”

“Seeing you well is reward enough for me, Erestor,” Elrond decided to take a small risk and brought their intertwined hands to his lips for a kiss.

“I was wondering if I could spend the nights with you,” Erestor asked softly, making no move to remove his hands, “I am beset by dark dreams and find no rest. I know you have an arrangement with our ernil, but atleast for two or three days? I cannot stand to spend the night alone in Gil’s tent.”

Elrond kissed the hands again saying quietly, “What else are friends for, ‘Restor? Thranduil will stay with Círdan, so he told me. Apparently the old, goatish mariner asked him to.”

“You left out ‘rusty’,” Erestor’s eyes sparkled faintly in humour, something that Elrond had not seen in them since the high-king’s demise.

“I would like to join you in Imladris,” Elrond said quietly, “Lindon holds no value for me.”

“I would be pleased,” Erestor remarked, “I was wishing that you and Glorfindel would join me. I don’t wish to be lonely in the valley, and I know I will not be happy in Lindon with the memories.”

Elrond gave a squeeze of comfort to Erestor’s hands. The counsellor said more briskly, “I am worried for Thranduil. He should not go alone to Greenwood, one of us should go to with him to help him cope. I would go, of course.”

“I will go,” Elrond said firmly, “You are weak and weary. Go to Imladris after the council and then rest awhile. I will stay with Thranduil until their marriage.”

“I doubt it would be anytime soon. Amroth has not yet recovered,” Erestor sighed, “Elrond, I must go now and see to the rations. Glorfindel will achieve only irritating Celeborn.”

“Let them be,” Elrond said dismissively, he was with Erestor after a long time and did not want to end this, “Come, retire for tonight. The rations won’t disappear tomorrow.”

“Very well then,” Erestor shrugged, his eyes twinkling, “I had been hoping to be forced to retire. I am very tired.”

Elrond moved to the farther side of the mattress making space for Erestor. The counsellor removed his heavy mourning robes and slipped in beside Elrond, saying drowsily, “I do believe that the moment my head touches the mattress, I shall slip into reverie.”

“You know what?” Elrond teased, “Ada used to complain that I slept with my eyes closed occasionally. If he saw the way you sleep, so exhaustedly, he would be scandalized.”

“Whatever you say,” Erestor replied diplomatically.

Elrond turned to look at him, his eyes were closed in exhaustion and he had already fallen asleep. Shaking his head, he pulled up the covers to Erestor’s chest and ran his hands through the tangled black hair once before turning away resolutely and trying to find his own sleep. 

 

They rode slowly along the river Anduin, long lines of weary and wounded warriors. Elrond and Glorfindel were in the middle of the host, occupied by the rationing and attending to the wounded. Thranduil, Círdan and Celeborn led the armies. Erestor was doing what he loved to do the most, appearing everywhere and supervising the warriors. Some nights he would return to Elrond’s tent, weary and near fainting. Some nights, Gildor would send word to Elrond that Erestor had fallen asleep on him. The battle had strengthened the deep bond of friendship between the leader of the wandering company and Erestor. More than once, Gildor had rushed to save his friend’s life after Erestor attempted reckless charges. 

One night, while Elrond was speaking with Glorfindel, Erestor entered the camp, looking as weary as if he had single-handedly built Gondolin.

“What are you trying to prove?” Glorfindel asked acidly, “They are warriors, not rose bushes. You don’t need to tend them so.”

Erestor came to sit by him offering, “Your warriors are pricklier than rosebushes, Glor. I had to intervene in thirteen brawls tonight. At this rate, we shall reach Lórien with less than half the current number.”

“And minus the chief counsellor,” Glorfindel raised Erestor’s chin and scrutinized the wan features, “Are you trying to work yourself to death? I am surprised that Elrond has not complained.”

“I have told Thranduil, Glorfindel,” Elrond smiled handing a cup of tea to Erestor, “He has promised to see to this.”

Erestor scowled, but said nothing as he gratefully sipped the tea. Obviously, he did not wish to further enrage the balrog slayer.

“’Res, are you trying to work yourself to death?” Glorfindel asked more severely.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor warned, his eyes narrowing.

Elrond shook his head at Glorfindel, but the balrog slayer trudged on, “What, am I right?”

“Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor stood up angrily, “I would advise you to keep put of my affairs!”

“Erestor,” Elrond intervened, “Why don’t you retire?”

“Stay out of this, Elrond,” Glorfindel stood up and faced Erestor, though Erestor was a mere few inches shorter than the balrog slayer, now Glorfindel towered over him, his fair features contorted in grief and rage, “You are trying to fade, Erestor. Do you deny that?”

Erestor said coldly, “I do not see any purpose to my life now that I have failed to even keep my own bonded-mate alive.”

Elrond watched alarmed, he had never seen Erestor in a true temper before though he had heard tales of the counsellor’s fiery Fëanorian outbursts from Gil-Galad and Glorfindel. He found suddenly that he did not wish to see that.

Glorfindel grasped Erestor’s forearms and shook him roughly, “You would leave me? You would leave Elrond, who almost sacrificed himself to save you? You would leave Gil-Galad’s work undone? By the Valar, Erestor, is this what Círdan and I taught you? I was proud when you defiantly followed me to Eregion, when you found Imladris. I was proud when you defied us all and did your duty to the refugees. Now, Erestor, what are you doing? Trying to seek death?”

“You told me to follow my heart, Glorfindel,” Erestor tried to shake Glorfindel’s grip off.

“Yes,” Glorfindel said steadily, “And now you are not doing that. You are not tired of life, yet you try to die.”

Erestor angrily extricated himself from Glorfindel’s grip and strode off, his robes swishing angrily about his frame. 

“Will that help?” Elrond asked mildly as he gave Glorfindel a cup of tea, “I must go and search for him, he is very exhausted.”

“He will have gone to the ernil,” Glorfindel said miserably, “I will go myself. But someone had to make him see what he is doing. I cannot survive losing him, Elrond, he is the most valued person in my heart.”

“I too cannot survive losing him, Glorfindel,” Elrond strode forward to hug his friend, who gratefully accepted the comfort.

Glorfindel returned with Erestor half an hour later, their voices rising and falling in a gentle banter, the soft smirks on their faces giving away their amusement. 

“It is over then?” Elrond asked fighting off a grin as Erestor tried to put on a scowl. 

“Excuse me, but let me remind you that this young scowling specimen of an elf has been taken over my knees countless times in his youth,” Glorfindel said snidely, “Would I hesitate to do that again, Elrond?”

Elrond bit his lips fighting laughter at the abject expression of horror on Erestor’s pale features before the counsellor said icily, “That will be a day you shall never live to see, Elrond! Now, I am going to retire and leave you two to idle talk,” he walked off in a flurry of robes leaving Elrond and Glorfindel finally free to let flow their laughter.

 

Anoriel walked to the window of the sick room and watched the sun set slowly over the mallorn. The bond between Thranduil and her was strengthening. She knew that he was coming. She sighed, her father was dead, his father was dead, her brother was fading. How long would it take to renew alliances, rebuild kingdoms and armies? Only after kingdoms, alliances and others would their love matter again. Tears slipped down her eyes, she wanted nothing more than to be with him again. To never let him go from her embrace. Would that they had been two simple elves unburdened by the crowns and their fathers’ legacies!

“ Anoriel?” a raspy voice pulled her back to the present. She turned with alarm and astonishment towards the bed. A pair of weary, grief-struck, sapphire blue eyes watched her.

“You are finally awake,” Anoriel murmured as she knelt by the bed and soothed her brother’s limp hair, “I was so frightened.”

“How long?” he asked hoarsely as he closed his eyes in an attempt to remember, “How long have I been a burden to you?”

“The war is over. It has been eight years since our father fell,” Anoriel smiled bitterly, “Six years since you have been in this state. I thank the Valar for having returned you to me.”

“I left you alone,” he shook his head sadly, “My love blinded my duties. What worthy heir am I to my father’s crown? Better you than me.”

“That you love her to your own destruction speaks volumes of the power of your heart,” she soothed his frowning brows, “I will send for her. But she may not come.”

“I will go to her,” Amroth sighed, “Thranduil?” 

“Comes,” Anoriel said quietly.

Amroth grasped her chin in his hands and said firmly, “You will marry him as soon as he arrives, I do not care what your wishes are. You have both waited centuries, first, it was our father’s follies, then it was Eregion, then it was Thranduil’s past, then the war! This has gone on long enough, this time we shall have a grand feast, better than your betrothal.”

“Amroth,” she smiled sadly, “So many have fallen, so many are wounded and tormented by the war, so many have lost their lovers, bonded-mates, parents, siblings, family and friends. Kings of all our realms have fallen. This is a bad time to get married, I am in mourning for father. He is in mourning for his father. His realm has been the worst hit. He will need to toil with all he is before Greenwood breathes again.”

“What have you decided?” he asked fearfully, seeing the firm set to her jaw.

“Now that you are awake, my brother, I will go to him,” Anoriel squeezed his hands gently, “My place is by him. We need each other to heal. We consummated our bond years ago on our betrothal night. We do not need a wedding to complete this.”

“No maiden should leave her home without a wedding feast, least of all, the princess of Lórien,” Amroth said harshly, “Father would never have let this happen.”

“Nor would Oropher,” Anoriel said quietly, “Yet, this is my life, and my will, If it takes this to be with him, I do not mind. I would wish for a wedding, but it is a sacrifice I shall make for our love. We shall not get married on the corpses of our kin, but we can no more stay apart.”

 

Thranduil nudged his horse on as they neared the woods. Celeborn and Círdan sent knowing smirks at him, but he did not care. The bond in his heart was overflowing with joy and sorrow in equal measure. Then he saw.

Before the mallorn trees, stood a graceful white stallion bearing a hooded rider clad in a white dress. Thranduil felt a smile break over his features and a burning sensation pervading his throat and the corners of his eyes as the wind blew softly. The hood parted to reveal flaxen, golden hair framing a gaunt, yet extremely beautiful face. 

He raced ahead leaving his fellow leaders and warriors far behind as he galloped towards the solitary sentinel figure. She raised her hood and pulled it back and nudged her stallion gently. They met on the plains, the soft grass swaying gently about them as they stopped five feet apart staring with wonder at each other. Tears flowed down their faces, their bodies trembled and the love that flooded their bond threatened to drive them mad. 

Thranduil dismounted. Anoriel’s eyes hungrily took in the gaunt, slender form of the son Oropher had loved too much, the prince she loved too much. He was changed, he had become unconsciously more regal, wise and noble. She could see it in his stride as he approached her slowly, wonder on his features. The wildness about him had been tamed by grief. He raised his eyes to the skies and whispered a silent prayer of thanks before approaching her. 

He drew out his dagger and made a cut on his wrist and knelt before her saying solemnly, “I would bind my body to yours forever. We have already bound our hearts and bodies. Yet we have not bound our souls. Will you have me?”

She watched in surprise and endless joy as he remained knelt before her stallion, his hand bleeding, his eyes holding only love that would last forever.

“There is nothing more that I would wish for on Middle Earth, my prince,” she drew out her sword and made a cut on her slender, pale wrist before dismounting gracefully and kneeling before him. They pressed their hands together, and whispered their vows. They held each other’s gaze in awe as their blood intermingled binding them forever. Then simultaneously, they bent towards each other for a kiss. A harsh wind blew from the south, from Greenwood. But they did not worry, as long as they had each other, they would prevail. 

Behind them, the welcoming party of Lothlórien led by the convalescing King Amroth and Galadriel cheered the union. The war weary host of the elves stopped their march as they dismounted and bowed to the sublime love they witnessed. Celeborn and Glorfindel were laughing at the display before them. But Galadriel saw the pain in Erestor’s eyes war with his joy for the couple. Elrond’s eyes were deep pools of wistful joy.

Thranduil’s arms slid around Anoriel’s as he pulled them to their feet whispering, “I fear that we have gained a lot of voyeurs.”

“I love being watched, especially when I am in your arms,” she laughed as she pulled him to her insistently and ran her fingers through his matted hair, yet so soft. He engaged her lips for a deep, lingering, passionately, sensual kiss. 

________________________________________

 

Elrond smiled despite his weary soul as Glorfindel danced with Celebrían at the small banquet held in honour of Thranduil’s bonding. Amroth had insisted that his sister deserved atleast that for her wedding festivities. The bonded couple were softly speaking with each other. 

Celeborn approached Anoriel saying, “A dance?”

“In my father’s stead,” Anoriel replied solemnly as she accepted his hand. Thranduil watched them for a moment before turning his attention to Galadriel, whose eyes were weary though she had fought no war.

“I have not yet thanked you for lending my Ada strength then,” Thranduil smiled at her.

“It was the least I could do for someone who had done so much for me,” Galadriel bowed to him, “I fear that it is the doom upon me which haunts your house. I should have never stood in your mother’s stead.”

“As it is, I would beg you again, if we turn back the time,” Thranduil said firmly, “My father is with my mother, whom he loved dearly. They will be at peace.”

“I pray that you will find peace with her presence,” Galadriel said softly with her eyes on her husband and Anoriel.

“So do I,” Thranduil raised his goblet. 

Erestor approached them, his pitch black robes trailing on the floor silently. Thranduil relinquished his seat to his friend saying, “I will claim my bride, Celeborn has been tarrying.”

“Indeed,” Erestor graced him with a smile before taking the offered seat beside Galadriel. Thranduil bowed to them and walked away to join Anoriel. Celeborn moved to Elrond’s side and they started conversing.

“You saw his death,” Erestor said quietly, his eyes fixed on Thranduil and Anoriel

“I did, My Lord,” Galadriel said equally quiet, “I foresaw it long ago. I could not meddle with the fates no matter how much I loved him.”

“Would you have kept silent if it had been your husband?” Erestor asked emotionlessly, though his fingers were clenched white against his goblet.

“Yes,” Galadriel said simply.

They remained silent for a long while before Galadriel spoke again, “It was not your fault that he died. Nor mine. His fate was that. You gave him the best years of his life, you took his loneliness away at the expense of your own happiness. You stood by him even when he did not stand by you. You did more than anyone else.”

“Yet it was not enough to pull me with him into Mandos,” Erestor remarked as he leant back in his chair, “Obviously I did not love him enough.” 

“It was more than enough to drag you into death,” Galadriel said quietly, “I could not pull you back with my skills. But Elrond fought tooth and nail to save you from death. You have friends who would die for you, as Gil-Galad had a mate to follow him into death.”

“No, Galadriel,” Erestor said, “There is no bond anymore. It was severed after his death. All that binds me to him is my vows. Still I have atleast that to cling to.”

“Nobody of my kin has called me by my name for centuries. I thank you for reminding me that I have yet blood relatives on these lands,” Galadriel said sincerely, “The only advice I can give you is what Oropher once told me : follow your heart, it will never betray you.”

“Celebrían comes with us to Imladris then?” Erestor asked, “No wedding ceremony?”

“No, it is not seemly for them to have a ceremony when the princess herself has sacrificed hers in honour of her fallen kin,” Galadriel said with a deep sigh, “And Elrond is not in favour of one too. They have exchanged rings as their acceptance of the vows of marriage.”

Erestor nodded. Galadriel asked in a lighter tone, “As my errant husband seems to have devoted himself to Elrond tonight, would you do me the honour of a dance?”

“In stead of your nephew?” Erestor raised an eyebrow.

“You are a nephew too,” Galadriel got to her feet, “But I want to know that there are no regrets. The love of our kin and our family will carry us both through.”

Erestor bowed and took the proffered hand. There was a collective gasp as Galadriel raised her voice in song,

"Gil-galad was an Elven-king.   
Of him the harpers sadly sing:   
the last whose realm was fair and free   
between the Mountains and the Sea.”

Erestor’s grip on the lady’s waist tightened as he met her darkened, cold blue eyes. As if on cue, Thranduil began to move towards them, his face marred by a frown. 

Galadriel smiled as she wrapped her arms around Erestor’s midriff whispering, “You betray him, My Lord.”

Erestor’s eyes widened as he tried to close his mind to the powerful onslaught as the lady continued to sing in her harsh voice,   
"His sword was long, his lance was keen,   
his shining helm afar was seen;   
the countless stars of heaven's field   
were mirrored in his silver shield."   
“I have never betrayed him in life,” Erestor said in a shaky voice, “Why would I begin to do so in death?”  
Galadriel laughed as she sung bitterly,  
"But long ago he rode away,   
and where he dwellth none can say;   
for into darkness fell his star   
in Mordor where the shadows are.”  
Erestor shook his head in disbelief as he pushed her away from him, sweat breaking on his fine brow, he was barely aware of Thranduil’s warm hands supporting him and leading him away. Galadriel closed her eyes as she whispered, “In Mordor where the shadows are, where the shadows are.”  
“Not very tactful,” Elrond’s cold voice broke in on her thoughts, “Once again, your vindictiveness is unparalleled.”  
Galadriel turned to face his accusing stare as she said quietly, “I was merely giving him the will to live on and to find love again. He cannot afford to cling to the past, none of us can.”

Thranduil walked slowly through the leave strewn paths under the mallorn trees. Anoriel was with Amroth, as was custom for brides on the day before their departure for their bonded’s lands.   
“Cousin?” Celebrían’s hand snaked in through his arm easily as she crept on him unawares.  
“’Bria,” Thranduil acknowledged as he raised her hand to his lips, “If orcs were as soft on foot as you, I would be long in Mandos.”  
“You should keep vigil with your kin tonight, Thranduil,” Celebrían reminded him unnecessarily.  
“Unfortunately for me, I seem to be lacking in kin,” Thranduil replied bitterly, “Still the trees are kin.”  
“I am kin,” Celebrían rested her golden head on his shoulder, “Would you accept my company to keep vigil this night? Ada and Naneth are arguing, something regarding her song. So I presume you will not be graced with Ada’s company.”  
“I miss my Ada tonight,” Thranduil whispered as he gazed up at the stars forlornly, “But, thank you, cousin, I will be glad of your company. What news?”  
“Elrond and I exchanged rings,” Celebrían shrugged, “That is, he sent a ring through Anoriel, and I sent one back. Still, here it is,” she flashed a golden circle on her slim finger, “A mockery of our hearts.”  
“He is a noble soul,” Thranduil sighed, not knowing what else to say.  
“Yes,” Celebrían said smiling, “You should know having spent days and nights with him, is it not?”  
“Do I smell of him?” Thranduil sniffed himself playfully as Celebrían laughed.  
“Really, cousin!” Celebrían chastised, “You are the limit. Only you will be able to put up with Anoriel , for she has an equally bad sense of humour!”  
“You are attracted to someone,” Thranduil turned to face her fully.  
“Again, as ever your conversation is unpredictable,” Celebrían said softly, “But true; it is just a passing attraction, though I suppose I am beyond the age to have these silly crushes.”  
“No,” Thranduil said solemnly, “I feel that desire is as strong as any other emotion. My love for Anoriel surpasses anything else. Still I find desire rising in my veins whenever I look upon Elrond or Erestor. Indeed I feel that I will always have an attraction regarding them. But it does not tarnish my love for Anoriel as long as I remain true to my vows. We are not the Valar. We cannot help desire. Though your mother might be above such things, the rest of us are normal elves!”  
Celebrían nodded as his words sunk in, giving her the much needed mental support to take on her role as the wife of Elrond when she desired another.  
“ Thranduil?” Erestor joined them, his robes rustling gently over the fallen leaves. He bowed to Celebrían with a soft smile.  
“A moment,” Thranduil murmured to Celebrían as he exchanged a glance with Erestor. They went a few paces away and talked in Quenya, their voices melodic and low. Celebrían watched Thranduil laugh and embrace Erestor tightly before they separated.  
“Now he is entirely at your disposal,” Erestor smiled at Celebrían and withdrew waving away her invitation to stay with them.   
“He is enigmatic,” Celebrían said quietly, “Wonder how Gil and you managed to sleep with him. He…he does not seem capable of passion.”  
“Oh!” Thranduil laughed even as she blushed at her own words, “Trust me, he is quite capable! After all, I speak from you know, what I speak from! He will have my tongue chopped off I he had heard me.”  
“He is harsh then?” Celebrían looked tremulously in the direction where Erestor had disappeared off into, “The one or two times I met him outside of formality, he was quite polite and put me at my ease. He insisted that I address him by name.”  
“He is all right, just a tad like Elrond. They hide their hearts behind their formality. Don’t worry, ‘Bria, the herald, the counsellor and the seneschal are all true souls. You will never have trouble from their side,” Thranduil assured her, “If they do something, you send word to me and I’ll stick things into certain holes of certain elves,” Celebrían punched his shoulder laughing, “I will!”  
“Oh, cousin!” Celebrían said when she finally regained her breath, “Am glad that you have recovered well.”  
Thranduil’s eyes clouded as he whispered, “I cannot bear to have you or Celeborn unhappy. You are all that is left to me as kin. And I mean my words, nobody will live to tell the tale should they hurt you by word or action.”  
Celebrían hugged him and they stood still, the bonds of kinship that tied them reflected on their handsome features.

Elrond sat next to Erestor with a sigh. It would be a long meeting and he expected many frayed relations. They had bid farewell to Thranduil and his bride that morning. Now, it was time to elect a new leader.  
“My Lords, now that we have assembled here, shall we proceed without further civilities?” Galadriel asked clearly, she continued as silence fell on the small group of Noldor nobles and a few of the Sindar who were considered close enough to the issue at hand.  
“Gil-Galad left behind no clear will concerning the kingship, or that regarding the ring of power, Vilya. The logical assumption is that the kingship would pass along with the nearest in blood,” her eyes shifted to Elrond, “Along with the ring.”  
There were uneasy glances as Galadriel smiled bitterly saying, “But there are others kin to the fallen King. Allow me to list those noble names,” she paused before her eyes rested on Círdan, who shrugged.  
“The house of Fëanor, we are uncertain to the fate of Maglor,” Galadriel closed her eyes, “so we must discount him from our reckonings. We have no news of the fate of the Ring maker of Eregion. But he had given up all claims to the throne ever. That leaves us only with Lord Erestor, son to Maglor, fosterson to Noble Círdan, Chief-Counsellor to the High-King and bonded mate to Ernineon Gil-Galad.”  
“I have no claim on his kingship or possessions, but I would make a request of Elrond should he allow me,” Erestor said somberly, “I wish to continue as the chief-counsellor if the herald and the heir has no objections. I wish to make reparations as much as I can strive to after all that my family has brought upon elvenkind. And Middle-Earth.”  
Elrond opened his mouth to interject, but Galadriel said evenly, “I am proud of your noble words, Lord Erestor. We must stand together or fall apart. Of the house of Finarfin only I and Gildor remain. I stay in Middle-Earth only to repair my kins’ errors. My bloodline has relinquished my heritage in favour of my bonded’s. Lord Gildor?”  
Gildor sighed and stared at Erestor before replying, “Ever have my line been bound to the service of the true line of high-King Finwë. I stand by that. But if Lord Erestor stands by his words, I will take to my wandering troops again in the foreseeable future.”  
“You are unopposed, Lord Herald Half-Elven,” Círdan said softly. His words were a calculated insult to Elrond’s human blood, everybody knew that and some approved whole-heartedly.  
Elrond bowed and stood, he spoke softly, his counsel advised by Thranduil centuries ago, when he had spoken with his friend after the argument with Gil-galad in Imladris on their first visit to the valley after it had become a flourishing city (Refer The Song Of Sunset Chapter 28 : ‘Confrontations’ http://j-dav.livejournal.com/11040.html) , “I will not take up the kingship that is not rightly that of my house. For the sake of unity, I will remain the herald and I beg that Lord Erestor remains the chief-counsellor. Gil-Galad shall be the last of the high-kings of the Noldor on this side of the ocean,” his eyes met Galadriel’s wondering ones, “There will be unity, this is all I wish.”   
“If you wish it, then it shall be so,” Galadriel bowed.  
“I wish to hand over the lordship of Imladris to the herald as it is his by right,” Erestor stood and bowed to Elrond, “Imladris and myself are at your disposal.”  
“Lord Erestor,” Elrond felt a catch of breath in his throat as he bowed deeply to his long time desire, one time lover and ever good friend, “We served a star together. Now I shall be honoured to rule beside you, with you.”   
Their eyes met as they straightened, for once, Elrond thought that he saw something beyond the warmth of friendliness, but then Erestor nodded gracefully and resumed his seat.

 

Galadriel spoke to Celeborn as he watched her undress with interest, “They are noble, both of them.”  
“I suppose so. And goodlooking. ,” Celeborn shrugged as he casually raised a hand to rake through his hair hoping that she would catch on his desire, “’Bria could have such fun, if they all agreed, of course.”  
Galadriel raised an eyebrow sternly even as she regarded her handsome husband with a fond quirk of her lips, “Meaning? Some Sindar tradition I am not aware of?”  
“Ah!” Celeborn glared as he let the silken covers fall to the floor as he sat up and watched her stand before the mirror combing her hair, a thin gown covering her, “I think the Noldor started it! The Sindar have always gone for quality, not quantity. Certainly, none of us have cavorted in groups.”  
Galadriel bit her lips as she chastised her husband half-amusedly, “Celeborn, are you attempting to imagine our dear offspring with both the noble counsellor and the herald at the same time?”  
“I am not sure that I would have ever thought of such a thing if you had not put it so roguishly,” Celeborn said in an appalled tone, “I merely meant that they were good company. Now come to bed before you do worse mind reading! My daughter with two elves in her bed indeed!!!” he grumbled even as her hands slipped reassuringly around his midriff and her full lips kissed his anger away.

Elrond watched the stars blearily. He wanted to sleep, but he could not find the will to retire to his bed alone. Celebrían was with Haldir, he did not mind truly, still he felt the loneliness of his situation more. Glorfindel had decided to spend the night walking under the mallorn with his tent-mate of the past years, Gildor. Celeborn and Galadriel were engaged in rather loud activities that the sounds were audible even here. Elrond felt a smile tug at his lips, he knew that Thranduil and Anoriel would be doing the same somewhere on the plains.   
Thinking of Thranduil made him feel sadder. But no, what he had experienced once with Erestor Maglorion would sustain him till the very end. He had vowed that there would be no other anymore. He could not help thinking of the world of difference between the gentle, skilled, lovemaking of Thranduil and the unbridled passion of Erestor. Maybe Thranduil had not been unrestrained with Elrond, because he valued their friendship over lust. The tales that he had heard of Thranduil spoke different.  
Both Erestor and Thranduil, they were so alike, in passion, in nobility of bearing and compassion. Maybe that was why that he had fallen in love with one of them and had grown to cherish the other.  
“No rest?” Erestor’s voice startled him and he shook his head turning to face the other elf.  
“I have to talk with you, Elrond,” Erestor whispered as he joined Elrond on the open balcony to gaze at the skies, “But I cannot find the courage to do it.”  
“What about? I thought the council went along fine,” Elrond said softly as he placed a hand on Erestor’s wrist clenched tightly around the railing that it shone pale white in the starlight.  
“I….I, Elrond,” Erestor said in a shaky voice as he tore his gaze away from the sky and met Elrond’s gaze, “I have misused you. You suffered so much to keep me alive after Gil left us. I cannot tell you of the entire shame and pain that I carry within my soul for betraying all that was between us. I was not aware, still I know that can be no reason for what I did,” Elrond made to speak, but Erestor shook his head and knelt before him and clutched his hands saying quietly, “You should have killed me then. But you accepted my torture. Kill me, so that you can set yourself free for Celebrían.”  
Elrond felt tears escape his eyes as he gripped Erestor’s face roughly in his hands and knelt down so that their gazes met again. Tears were flowing from Erestor’s weary eyes too.  
“Set us both free,” Erestor whispered, “Set me free to die and join Gil whom I should never have deserted, set yourself free for her. There will be no judgement by the Valar, I deserve to be killed for what I committed.”  
“And?” Elrond asked bitterly, “Why did I take that step? Why didn’t I fade when you did that? Why, Erestor?”  
“Because of the friendship of centuries,” Erestor replied steadily.  
“Glorfindel would have done the same if that had been the same, for your friendship is deeper. Yet, he allowed me to do that,” Elrond whispered, “Why do you think that was? For all your keen senses, you did not see what was in me?”  
Erestor’s breath fastened as he tore his eyes away from Elrond saying harshly, “Please, Elrond.”  
“No more, Erestor,” Elrond raised their hands to his lips, “Ever have I hidden whom I loved, because I could not tarnish your love for Gil or our friendship with what I bore in my heart. We have both lost. I will accept this marriage with the lady. I will never seek you with my desire. But I want your friendship please. I will kill for that. Don’t leave me, don’t sail, don’t talk about ending your life. I saved your life with my pain, true. But your life is worth anything I can sacrifice.”  
“Elrond, Elrond,” Erestor shook his head sadly, “Don’t speak like this! I am not what you imagine me to be. I am shallow.”   
“Be it as it may,” Elrond replied, “But live. Otherwise I shall follow you to the west or to Mandos. As Fingolfin said to Fëanor, I say to you, lead, and I will follow.”  
“No,” Erestor said firmly as he faced Elrond again, fire blazing in his eyes, “I will live if I can just prevent you from insane declarations as this. But never shall we repeat the mistakes of our forefathers.”  
“Live for yourself,” Elrond breathed as he hugged Erestor gratefully, “That is all I ask. I will do anything you wish if you agree. I don’t care what you do, whom you seek, how we argue, just live for yourself.”  
“I will do more, Elrond,” Erestor returned the embrace and kissed Elrond softly on the lips eliciting a gasp of shock and long suppressed love, “I will live for you, if you ask me to.”

Galadriel woke from her reverie, Celeborn was smiling bitterly as he removed himself from the bed saying, “Your noble souls are happy. Satisifed?”  
“How did you know?” she breathed not daring to imagine his wrath at her meddling.  
“I am sorry to remind you that the trees still honour my feelings unlike my wife who thinks that she can butter me in her bed while planning to get my daughter’s husband and his love together,” Celeborn spat as he pulled on his leggings, “I will not enter your bed chamber again.”  
“They deserved to be happy after everything. Our daughter is our daughter, I love her more than anything else. I will not betray her,” Galadriel said in a small voice, “Please, Celeborn, I missed you, come back. Do not leave us sundered again.”  
“After I think of all that you have achieved, I am surprised that I can still look upon you with no intent to kill!” Celeborn said angrily as he left.  
Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, had made yet one more sacrifice for the redemption of her fallen house. She closed her eyes as she tried to be strong, to not succumb to the tears, to not just run behind him and beg him.  
________________________________________

 

Elrond felt a smile tugging insistently at his lips when he saw the charade on display before him.

“Really, Glor,” Erestor was sounding scandalized, “You should not sleep with your tent-mates under the trees! The poor maiden was affronted.”

“’Restor!” Glorfindel mumbled, “I thought that we were alone!”

“A famous Balrog Slayer, so attuned to the earth, how can he not hear the sound of a maiden’s feet?” Erestor huffed.

“Peace!” Gildor, who would accompany the party until the mountains, grumbled, “Erestor, you do begin to get on my nerves! Save this weird banter for a time when you are alone with him.”

“Ah!” Erestor said thoughtfully, “Don’t blame you, Glor. Gildor’s used to open spaces. And you have always loved a thrill.”

“ERESTOR,” Glorfindel roared as the Chief Counsellor maintained his thoughtful mien, “You are hopeless!”

“I was merely finding reasons for the fact that the lady ran to Amroth’s talan in the middle of the night from her bath and screamed of two elves ridiculing her sacred place with the most profane acts,” Erestor continued without batting an eyelid, his voice shaking slightly with the restrained mirth.

Gildor shook his head and headed his horse off to join his warriors. Glorfindel spat angrily, “Look, you told me to take a tumble!”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to take a tumble before a Sylvan maid who was bathing in the river wherein you were dumping certain, ah, fluids,” Erestor replied smiling. 

Elrond shook his head at the duo as he brought his horse next to Celebrían’s mare. She was biting her cheeks to prevent the outright laugh. 

“Does it get worse?” she asked him with a genuinely wicked smile.

“Mostly, it does,” Elrond confirmed with a smile of his own.

“Bathing!” Glorfindel had narrowed his eyes, “How did you know she was bathing?”

“Because I was bathing at the same time in the same river,” Erestor explained with the patience one would reserve for the permanently dimwitted. 

“You saw her and us!” Glorfindel scowled, “You!”

“I thought there was nothing to hide there,” Erestor laughed finally, his eyes sparkling, “Or was there?”

“How would you feel if someone was watching you with dispassionate eyes when you are taking a tumble under the starlight near the stream of Nimrodel when she was bathing in it?” Glorfindel asked sarcastically, his eyes widened as a shadow passed over Erestor’s fair features, “I am sorry, Erestor! I don’t know why I was so stupid! Eru, I need to chop off this tongue of mine!”

Elrond cleared his throat to intervene and dispel the moody expression from Erestor’s features as he brooded on Gil-Galad.

“Don’t,” Erestor sighed, “I am old enough to know that you meant nothing intentionally, Glor,” a small smile graced his lips, “If you chop off your tongue, I might lose a partner in debate. But I can explain. Anoriel had asked me to heal the sundering between her brother and that maiden. I made sure that she would see you, then I made sure that Amroth was waiting to act the protector. Forgiven?”

“Forgiven?” Celebrían laughed, “Not unless we get an answer to Lord Glorfindel’s question?”

Erestor raised his eyebrows at her daring before saying with a smirk, “Gil was too proper to do anything of that sort. He didn’t have Glorfindel’s need to try new things,” Glorfindel blushed before scowling at Elrond, Celebrían and Erestor who were all laughing at his embarrassment, Erestor continued, “No, my lady, the most I had was an experience on the seashore. I can vouchsafe that there were no witnesses though!” 

“Gil did not mind?” Glorfindel asked disbelievingly. 

“Yes, it is difficult to imagine him on the seashore,” Elrond laughed. 

They had talked more of Gil-Galad the past few days. Erestor seemed comfortable and often initiated conversations with Elrond, Glorfindel, Gildor and Celebrían about the high-king fallen in battle. Both Erestor and Elrond had not further spoken of the love Elrond bore the Chief Counsellor. But they had sealed a silent vow of hope by the chaste kiss in Amroth’s land that night. Elrond would wait even if it took till the end of the world. Until then he would settle for Erestor’s presence and friendship in his life.

“We are waiting for an answer, My Lord Erestor,” Celebrían smiled at the sudden spark of red that crossed the pale noble face, “How did you persuade Gil to the seashore? Did he not balk?”

“Who said that it was Gil?” Erestor raised an eyebrow before dissolving into laughter at the stunned faces before him. He whistled softly and prodded on his dark stallion, Amroth’s gift to him for rendering the rift betwixt him and Nimrodel. 

Glorfindel hurried away to join him. 

Celebrían smiled softly saying, “I would never miss home if not for the fact that Ada is not with me.”

“Indeed,” Elrond took her hand and inspected the palm closely, “However I have a foresight that he will come and reclaim you when he sees the rowdy bunch we make.”

“I shall refuse to go,” Celebrían laughed, “Unless Amroth offers me the lordship of Lórien!”

“Bah!” Elrond shrugged as he let her hand go in seeming disgust, “You fit in Imladris, with this rowdy bunch. For you are no lady, but a mischievous Sindar sprite! What havoc will you wreak on Erestor’s wonderful city, I cannot wait to see!”

“Is it truly as described?” Celebrían asked him curiously.

“Well,” Elrond pondered, “There are no mirrors, there are no daughters of Finarfin, it is the best place to be in! That is if you can put up with that pair of non-stop, ever-fighting, thick-headed elves. On, I forget to mention that you have to put up with a half breed who never fails to mess up every major celebration by drinking too much!”

“You should all kiss my boots for the great sacrifice I do by coming with you to that valley!” Celebrían huffed. 

“Lift your boots so that I may kiss them,” Glorfindel, who had rejoined them, offered gallantly. Celebrían knew that she would not find dishonour and grief from these lords. For the first time in her life, she was glad to be away from Lothlórien.

 

Thranduil led the long procession of warriors into the depths of Greenwood the Great, the trees seemed to bow before him. The land called out to him draining his energy. Hundreds of elves stood on either side of the great fortress waiting to receive their king and queen. On the moat gate stood Thalion, clad in black mourning robes. Thranduil dismounted and bowed to his people.

“Hail, King Thranduil!” Thalion announced. The elves joined in the salutation.

Thranduil turned to the white stallion beside him and helped Anoriel dismount. She was pale, tired and grieving for her kin. But she stood proud and determined beside her husband as she bowed to the people of Greenwood, now her people.

“The Queen Of Greenwood!” Thalion shouted. The people bowed deeply pledging their service to her.

She walked slowly to Thalion and knelt before him. A slender mithril circlet was placed on her forehead as Thalion whispered, “Long and true may your line be, My Queen.”

Anoriel stood gracefully and bowed to him before being led into the castle. Thranduil stayed to meet with his commanders and then joined Thalion.

“My Prince,” Thalion pulled him into a rough embrace as they entered the dark corridors of the castle, “It took me all that I was to not join you then.”

“It took me all that I was to not join Ada,” Thranduil said quietly as he wiped the solitary tear from Thalion’s eyes, “Don’t despair anymore. He would not want us to. We live, we live for the realm. We live for the people whose kin followed my father into death.”

“You are all that any father would wish for in a son,” Thalion said softly as he withdrew from the embrace, “You will be the beacon for hope in years to come, My King,” he bowed with his hand clenched over his heart.

In the days to come, Thranduil was busy with the reconstruction of granaries and forges, planning the patrols, settling the trade agreements and meeting with his counsellors. He knew that the people expected to be led from their grief by example. He could not afford to give into his sorrow in the least when he had to bring back a sense of purpose to his subjects. The matters of state were not hard on him, for he had always seen to them since his majority. Oropher had disliked meeting counsellors and handling meetings. Instead, he had preferred to meet his subjects and handle their affairs. Now, Thranduil smiled wearily as he walked to the audience hall, Thalion and Anoriel had taken it upon themselves to see to the affairs of the palace and the healing halls. It had shifted some responsibilities from him.

“My Lord,” the aide entered just as he had seated himself in the throne where his father had once reigned, “Shall I bring them in?”

“Please,” Thranduil nodded as he adjusted the yet unfamiliar crown on his hair. He had not bathed, slept or ate a full meal since he had returned. He wore dark black robes of mourning, and his hair was braided away into one plait. Tiredly, he picked up the inventory sheets and scanned them.

The first subject he had to meet that day entered, Thranduil smiled and beckoned him forward.

“Menor, son of Haor,” Thranduil said as he recognized the slender elf before him, “Glad am I that you are here, safe and uninjured. I fear that my responsibilities had not left me the time to check on you.”

“My Lord, you are most kind,” Menor replied, “My mother has faded and my sister sails for the west. All that remains with me is her son, who is in the patrol service, and rarely visits me.”

“You don’t need my consent to go to the West,” Thranduil said quietly, lots of his subjects were sailing or fading. He had no idea how to save them.

“I do not,” Menor said softly, “But I need your consent to serve you as long as I can.”

“Why?” Thranduil asked amazed, “I am in your father’s debt forever. Why would you want to serve me? It is a thankless job.”

“You need aides desperately,” Menor said quietly.

“Yes,” Thranduil sighed, “Please, what kind of position would be to your taste? Almost every position is empty!” 

“Where do you need the most help? I will serve there,” Menor smiled as he knelt on a knee before the King.

“In my council. Half my counsellors are dead, many are leaving for the West,” Thranduil said sadly, “I would appreciate help there. Meet with Lord Thalion.”

“I live to serve you, My King,” Menor bowed before exiting the room.

 

It was night before Thranduil had finished his meetings with the subjects. Now he had to grab a piece of meat and hurry to inspect the barracks. 

“You have one more subject,” a voice he knew so well spoke softly as he turned to pick up his scrolls. 

“And what may your reason to seek an audience with your King be?” Thranduil smirked as he turned to face her. 

He gasped in shock, she held a full plate of food and carafe of wine that she set down. Her hair was damp from a bath and she had only a silken sheet wrapped around her body. 

“Are you mad?” Thranduil hissed even as his eyes hungrily roved over the body. 

“It has been nearly a decade,” Anoriel shrugged and the sheet dropped to her bare feet leaving her naked body glowing in the torchlight, “We are staying here for one day. I can assure you that Green Wood will survive.”

“You are the queen for Valar’s sake!” Thranduil whispered even as he reached out to caress her hair.

She gave him a stare that made him modify his statement, “And I am not even bathed!”

“Don’t care,” she shrugged, as her fingers pulled down his robes, “I am too impatient. Let us see if you have lost your skills.”

“Oh!” Thranduil scowled, “So this is a test?” He pried away her fingers before they ripped his robes apart, “I’ll remove it, you are a born destroyer of fine clothing. Thinking of that, it is better you stick to wrapping sheets around your golden body.”

“Though I am the queen?” she laughed as he carried her to the plush sofa where counsellors usually waited for the King to pass judgement.

“Walk naked if you want; after all you are the queen,” Thranduil laughed as he placed her on the sofa and began kissing her ardently.

“You plan to ravish me on a sofa where your nobles will sit tomorrow?” she asked him breathlessly as he broke their kiss to stare at her wonderingly.

“You give me such excellent ideas,” Thranduil said solemnly before claiming those lips again.

Thalion had been about to retire when he had heard noises from the audience hall. Anoriel had left the healing halls early. Intent on making Thranduil retire, Thalion had opened the chamber door. Blushing furiously, he closed it again. He knew very well that he would never sit on that sofa again.

“You should lock the door the next time,” he shouted.

“Go away, we are busy making an heir here,” Thranduil yelled, “And lock the door yourself. We will not come out tomorrow. We are stocked up.”

“I want a girl child,” Thalion shouted laughing, “You have run me ragged, Oropherion. I will not survive raising yet another sprite.”

He shook his head before locking the door and moving away to seek his own bed. Those two would never do things proper. 

 

“My Lord Healer,” Menor came to him with a scroll, “The border guard asked me to give you this. He said it is important.”

Thalion nodded and sent him away, reading the scroll, his face blanched and he set off running in the direction of the audience chamber. 

“THALION!” Thranduil roared as he opened the door, not even bothering to wrap a sheet around himself, “What do you want, you crazy old fool? Just because you are an ascetic, do you have to spoil our pleasure?”

“Read this,” Thalion said softly.

Thranduil’s eyes widened as he scanned the parchment and he said in a quieter tone, “I know you would never have come if it had not been important, but I was just getting started. Well, ready my escort. I will ride out to meet him. He is becoming the bane of my life!”

Thalion nodded and left. Thranduil leant back against the closed door and stared at the decadent figure before him.

“Who is it?” she asked hoarsely.

“Isildur, that cursed spawn of Elendil! He wants to discuss something with me, it seems. And he has a large band of warriors. Elbereth knows if he wants another war,” Thranduil crept back onto the sofa with her, “He is nearing the Vales of the Anduin.”

“Go, I will wait. Please lock the door though,” she smiled teasingly, “Your nobles might be shocked.”

“My captive Queen,” Thranduil pressed a kiss on her stomach before rising and arraying himself in his black clothes. 

Cursing Isildur yet again, he made his way to the stables. His escort was already there. As he stepped across the courtyard, a tiny flutter of premonition washed through his senses. Something bad was going to happen. The rays of a red sun washed the skies. He shook his head, Isildur heralded the worst always.

“Arm yourselves,” Thranduil commanded as he mounted his mare, “I expect a skirmish.”

“Gondorians are our allies,” his captain of the guard pointed out.

“I will not lose anyone because we neglected to arm ourselves,” Thranduil said sombrely, “We have lost enough! Ride, I wish to be back ere long. Keep to the Forest Road.”

* * *


	6. The End Of An Age

“What is it?” Thranduil asked concernedly as his scouts returned at a furious pace.

“My Lord, there has been an orc attack. They are all dead, except for Isildur, our soldiers bring him now. He wishes to speak to you,” the aide panted.

Thranduil dismounted and knelt beside the panting, heaving bloodspattered human king of Gondor. 

“King Isildur?” Thranduil gently attempted to assess the wounds, “It would be better if we carried you to my halls.”

“NO,” Isildur panted as he tried to sit up and meet Thranduil’s gaze, “I am dying, I wish to die. I have sinned, so much!”

“What happened?” Thranduil cut in firmly, “Are there any more of your escort?” he sliced away Isildur’s armour and pressed his fingers and inspected closely. Black blood flowed, it was poisoned.

“You need my healers,” Thranduil said as he made to get up swiftly intending to waste no more time.

“Thranduil!” Isildur begged, “Listen, please!” 

“Very well,” Thranduil sighed, “You are wasting time. We need to get you to a healer.”

“My heir follows with an escort. Take him to Elrond, beg him to raise the child for my father’s sake, for Elros’s sake!” Isildur clawed at Thranduil’s hands, “And I am sorry for all that I have done, for the dishonour I meted out to your father, to you, to Lord Erestor, to Elrond, to my sire, to our people! And for the ring!”

“Where is the ring?” Thranduil demanded harshly, “Where is it? In your kingdom? The orcs have not waylaid you because of that?”

Isildur’s eyes spoke the truth as he said, “It was too evil, I pray that you had marched on me and killed me and destroyed it! It is beyond my reach and yours now, My King. I leave now to whatever place our mortal souls reach in the end. Have I your forgiveness, no, I will not have it…atleast your word to see my heir safe?”

“You have my forgiveness, son of Elendil,” Thranduil shook his head sadly. “You have caused all of us much grief. But as my father said it was in the Song. We can change nothing. I will always resent you for what you have done to me. For what you have done to Erestor. For the ring and for so many reasons. Each time I see a widow of war, I will curse you.” Isildur’s eyes were filled with remorse. “But,” Thranduil said quietly, “I shall try to forgive you even if I cannot forget your actions and their consequences.”

“Thank you,” Isildur breathed, “I leave in peace. I wanted to see you before I left this world. That I would repay the dishonour meted out to you. You are the noblest creature amongst your fair folk. Long may you reign and defeat the shadow! Your line will be exalted in song both sides of the sea. I see what you are truly, Thranduil, and I am enriched by it.”

“Go in peace,” Thranduil said softly as he placed his hand in Isildur’s. “I will take your heir to Elrond. If he cannot give a refuge, I shall. Rest, son of Gondor.”

Isildur smiled bitterly and his hard grip on Thranduil’s hand slackened. The breath left his frame and he passed into song. Thranduil instructed his guards to find the second escort of men and bring the heir to him. 

Then he knelt beside the much tortured fallen soul and whispered, “Your mistakes will be our burdens forever. Elbereth grant us the strength to do what we must do, we must face him again.”

“Sire, do we carry him to our halls?” the captain asked softly.

“No,” Thranduil said sternly, “His hands and body are stained by the dark lord’s malice. Let his body float down the Anduin river. It is fitting. We leave now, bring the boy to me when you get him.”

 

Anoriel smiled when the key turned in the lock with a click. 

“About time!” she stopped when Thranduil entered, weary with exhaustion and deep sorrow, “What is it?” she sat up immediately and made space for him beside her on the sofa.

“He is dead,” Thranduil said flatly, “And leaves us to undo the damage! The ring is missing. I have men searching in the Anduin, but I fear it is futile.”

“Thranduil,” Anoriel held out her arms, “Come and rest in my arms, let me hold you and soothe you as you do daily. You try to be strong for everyone. You try too much. I cannot bear to see my prince like this, hiding beneath that fine mask of pleasantry. Be wild as you once were, be courageous as you were, then you never feared to show me what you felt.”

“I,” he shook his head averting his eyes, “I feel so much grief for Adar daily, every moment as I breath. I saw him struck down, I ran to him, I carried him back in my arms. His blood is still fresh on my body. He died because Isildur mocked me, I blame Isildur, and I blame myself too. I blame myself for the fact that Amroth and Amdir followed me because of my love for you. I blame myself for the hundreds of lives lost that day. Anoriel, can you ever forgive me for killing Amdir?” 

“I cannot, were you the one who did it,” she said smiling sadly, “But now, I will forgive you for being a fool!”

He met her firm gaze. Those sapphire eyes seemed to look through him as he felt the barriers he had erected around dissolve. The full extent of his grief, hatred and fear seeped into their bond.

“You fool,” she said as tears fell onto her cheeks, “you stubborn fool, how dare you hide all of this from me!”

“I want you happy,” he sighed as he leant into her embrace.

“I am happiest when I share all of what you are, my prince,” she whispered, “I am happiest when I share your burdens, not just your happiness. If you can dance with me and make love to me, if you can bond with me and call me your queen, why will you hide your grief from me?”

“Forgive me, Anor-nîn,” Thranduil crumbled into long repressed sobs as he shook within her arms, crying on her soft, naked body, “I love you too much, I am afraid that you would leave me too.”

“Never, My prince,” she vowed, “As long as the world lasts.”

 

Elrond watched with joy as Lindir and Melpomaen came to greet them, with many residents of Imladris in tow. Mourning banners still prevailed over the ramparts in respect for the last high-king, but there was a sense of hope as the elves rejoiced in the defeat of Sauron.

“You have grown,” Erestor kissed Melpomaen’s brow lightly before walking to meet his other acquaintances. Glorfindel rolled his eyes as Melpomaen blushed and scampered inside.

Celebrían was already chatting to a few ladies. Elrond made sure that she was at ease before following Erestor into the house. No, home, he corrected himself. This would now be his home.

“So how are the rooms to be assigned?” Glorfindel joined him, “She wishes for separate rooms, but in the same wing. No need to cause rumours about.”

“Fine with me, I am in her debt,” Elrond suggested as he entered his own chambers.

Glorfindel left and Elrond closed the door behind him softly. The rooms of Imladris were all interconnected. The next room was Erestor’s, he knew that well. He had endured many nights of listening to Gil and Erestor argue. 

 

Glorfindel stopped walking when a young pellet of a warm body banged against his legs, laughing he reached to pick the elfling in his hands.

“Valar!” he whispered as he looked at the so familiar features of the young bundle squirming in his arms.

“Where did you end this time?” Menelwen’s voice was weary as she came into the courtyard after her son, she gasped on seeing Glorfindel holding her child.

“I apologize, lady,” Glorfindel said as he unwillingly set the elfling down. He was unable to tear his eyes away from her, she looked more resplendent than the last time he had seen her.

“No,” Menelwen smiled as she prodded the elfling to remain still, “Come child, greet Lord Glorfindel. He was once my teacher.”

The elfling stuck his tongue out and ran away leaving them alone. Glorfindel cleared his throat as he tried to bid her a good day. 

Instead all he could say was pitifully, “I thought of you when we won finally. I fought for you as I always have.”

“My Lord,” Menelwen embraced him. “I rejoice in seeing you unharmed once more. You have always meant more to me than anyone else. But,” her eyes flashed with regret, “We have made our choices and we live with them. There are no more chances for us together. Choose one to soften your wounds.”

“I will never stop loving you, but you are right, our chances are over,” Glorfindel closed his eyes as he buried his head in her darker hair. 

 

Elrond sighed, then settled into a loose robe before knocking on the next door. Erestor opened with a soft smile as he said quietly, “I have been thinking.”

“Of?” Elrond hugged his slender frame just to make sure that Erestor was still with him, “I would assume that we would all wish to forget than to think.”

“Yes,” Erestor returned the embrace carefully before breaking away and walking to the window. 

The setting rays of the sinking sun in the west outlined his figure. Elrond gulped, this was the scene which had made him realize his love millennia ago. Now, he was once more watching it. Erestor had changed; there were permanent shadows in the dark, soulful eyes, he had become gaunter, and wiser. Yet his beauty remained unmarred by his battles and his personal sorrows. The beauty of his soul, it would never change. 

“Elves never change,” Elrond said quietly as he joined him near the window. Their shadows intermingled on the floor.

“They do,” Erestor said gravely, “though they try to resist it.”

“But they remain inherently the same,” Elrond argued. He leant forward to finger a strand of the midnight black hair he was besotted with.

“I am a selfish person,” Erestor said quietly, “I wish to give you and me a chance. But I do not know what I would have done if you had told me the truth before Gil left. I have desired many, but never loved as you do. I don’t deserve your love, Elrond.”

“I have never revealed the truth because I wanted you happy,” Elrond shrugged as hope blossomed in his long dried-up heart. 

“I,” Erestor shrugged and continued more shyly, “Whatever you wish to do is fine with me, Elrond.”

Elrond said breathlessly, “Have I your word on that?”

“Yes,” Erestor smiled hesitantly with a blush on his pale cheeks, “Whatever you wish to do…”

“I want you to make love to me,” Elrond gathered Erestor’s hands in his own, “To take me apart and make me new, as you did that night. I have never before felt such ecstasy. It was bliss.”

Erestor smiled and closed the space with a kiss, his tongue soon possessively wrapped around Elrond’s as his hands wrapped themselves around Elrond’s waist tightly. 

As they broke apart for breathing, Elrond gasped, “The bed, I can’t stand.”

Erestor complied and then laid himself atop Elrond, removing his clothes and gently beginning an exquisitely sensual assault on Elrond’s body and senses with mere touches and tongue. 

“You didn’t waste time last encounter,” Elrond complained as he writhed and arched beneath Erestor’s body.

“I was knocked out by your brews!” Erestor huffed, “I still can’t believe that I didn’t even taste you!”

“Taste---, AH!” Elrond rolled his head and clenched his fingers, biting down on his lips as he was suddenly engulfed. There was no debating it, Erestor was more unpredictable than Thranduil in bed. He pulled up Erestor for a brutal kiss.

“Satisfied?” Erestor asked him smiling gently as he threaded his fingeres through Elrond’s tousled hair.

“You promised!” Elrond scowled, “Or do I have to demonstrate it with you?”

“Oh!” Erestor laughed as he kissed Elrond’s nose tenderly, “I do remember, I stand by my promise. This was just an appetiser. Shall we get going again?”

Without waiting for Elrond’s reply, he kissed his way down Elrond’s chest purposefully south.

“Eru!” he breathed as Erestor gently pried his thighs apart and knelt between them.

Erestor laughed amusedly and began preparing Elrond, all the while humming softly a Sylvan lay that Thranduil had once sung to describe Elrond bawdily. Elrond rolled his eyes; these two would be the death of him.

“Ready?” Erestor leant forward to claim Elrond’s lips in a searing kiss that left his senses crashing into oblivion. It was soon followed by sharp pleasure of the actual joining and he thrust his hips to balance them both. Erestor maintained a steady speed until Elrond was pushed over the brink with a cry that must have sounded in the entire valley. That moment, he regretted nothing, not even that he had not killed Isildur of Gondor. 

“You are too loud,” Erestor complained as he pulled away and lay down beside Elrond.

“Gag me then,” Elrond offered laughing weakly as he trued to regain his breath, “I am amazed, you are still not shaken much!”

“I think it is because I desire you so much,” Erestor said sincerely, “I hope that you might do the honours the next time.”

“Somehow, I doubt that we would find it that satisfying, my love,” Elrond said the last word with relish, he was finally free to call his love thus atleast when alone with him. 

He turned to watch the last rays of the sun shine down on Erestor’s naked body. The black hair was dark blue, clashing with the pale body bathed in golden red light. Black eyes regarded him with a sense of wonder, warmth, respect, amusement and lazy satiation. Elrond would never forget the sight till the end of the world.

 

Galadriel watched the sunset alone from her flet. Somewhere under the same sky, Elrond and Erestor were drowning their sorrow in love and desire. And Thranduil had succumbed to his grief in his bonded-mate’s arms. Glorfindel and Menelwen were reconciled though they would never dream together again. 

Galadriel sighed, an age had ended. It had been two ages since she had begun her solitary vigil in Middle-Earth, watching her kin perish. How many more would fall before her eyes? There was yet malice in the wind. Sauron would return. And when he came, Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, once High Princess of the Noldor, would continue to wage the fight that her family had carried on before her…this time, she did not fear, if she fell, there were four who would take on the responsibility. 

She smiled softly as she gazed at the stars and said quietly, “You are right, Ereinion, they shall do. Your herald and seneschal are wise and noble. Oropher’s son and your bonded-mate are survivors, fearless and enduring. I have hope.”

 

________________________________________


End file.
